A Player to be Named Later
by TheHeartOfLife
Summary: Love is a combination of quantum physics, molecular attraction & timing, right? Two people, brought together by fluke  or divine intervention  sticking true to the old cliché – you have to play 1 day at a time. A FGB novella by TheHeartOfLife & hmonster4.
1. A Beautiful Day for a Game

**This is for the wonderful Lookingforhoofprints, who swooped in like a fiend during Fandom Gives Back to snap up the random pairing that is TheHeartOfLife and Hmonster4. She let us run free, while only extracting one promise - give good Garrett. We hopefully will live up to that.**

**Lily – Happy Birthday, babe – this one is all for you.**

**Thanks to lightstardust for being her. **

**Characters and quotes contained within are not ours. Everything else is.**

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**Chapter 1 – A Beautiful Day for a Game**

_It was hard growing up a Mariners fan in Eastern Tennessee. As a little boy, I had this silly notion that the M's were 'my' team, given the serendipity that we both came into existence on the same day (April 6, 1977). I could name every player, every stat, and every little detail that any 'true fan' would know._

_When my father moved us from Seattle to Gatlinburg in the second grade, I was absolutely despondent, thinking I'd never see another M's game as long as I lived._

_Seven year olds can be melodramatic that way._

_My granda, a big baseball fan himself, took pity on me, doing everything he could to help me get my fix, so long as it fell into 'his way' of doing things. He signed up for cable just to get an up and coming channel that would keep us up to date on the latest (you all know that channel today as ESPN). He allowed me to watch highlights and keep track of major league news, but he had one hard and fast rule - under no circumstance did we watch games on TV. We had to do it the old fashioned way._

_The minute dinner was over and the table was cleared, my granda and I would peel out, leaving my sisters to mess around with MTV while my grandmother wrote letters or talked to friends. We'd roll down the windows of his Buick Skylark and turn on the radio so we could hear whatever game was being broadcast (usually Cincinnati or St Louis, and once in a blue moon the Mariners). I would run around the backyard, pretending I was actually 'in' the game while my granda tinkered with his old Nikon 35 millimeter camera and 'officiated.' When the sun hung just low enough that it lit up the back stoop, Granda would use the face of his watch to catch the sun, creating a pretend baseball on the pavement. I would line up, my imaginary bat on my shoulder, happy to swing for the fences, never questioning when he called a ball foul or fair. That's how I spent the summers of my childhood, free of technology, using my imagination while Granda watched on. I can't think about baseball and not think about him – the two will always be linked in my mind._

_In 2001, I sat by my granda's hospital bed as the M's won game one hundred and sixteen, tying the Yankees for the most wins in the regular season. I was twenty-four years old, a rookie sports reporter for a small town newspaper. It was one month after September eleventh and two weeks before my granda died._

_He was in a lot of pain during that game, but he tried hard not to let it show. He demanded that we stick to our traditions, keeping score and playing a modified version of pretend baseball. With the lamp light reflecting off the face of his watch, Granda sent me sliders and knuckle balls, which I swung at as hard as I could without knocking anything over (the room was too small to allow for a full fan). When he got tired, we sat and listened to the game on the radio until the final outs were called._

_The only thing missing was his beloved camera and the slanting afternoon sun._

"_What you are hearing there, Emmie, is history," he told me. "Bad stuff happens in this world, but it's the simple, pure things that get us through. There is good everywhere, you just have to look for it."_

_Those words have carried me through a lot of tough times. Baseball is the purest form of perfection, something that brings people together with nothing more than a radio or a newspaper, and unifies us in our love of a game. The M's might not be making a post season run this year, and it might be a while before they do, but that doesn't mean that any of us will stop loving them, because to me, they are everything that is good and right about the world._

_To paraphrase Bull Durham, this is a simple game: You throw the ball, you hit the ball, you catch the ball. Sometimes it rains._

_Life isn't always simple, but that doesn't mean we can't strive to make it that way. Tomorrow is going to be a beautiful day for a game. I'll be at the ballpark, but I'll have the radio on, wishing I could be outside running pretend bases and focusing on the good things in life. _

_I think my granda would have liked that._

_It's a Beautiful Day for a Game by Emmett McCarty, The Seattle Times_

**-0-0-0-**

One of life's little ironies is that it can take a sharp left turn when people least expect it. Random events, which alone might be unremarkable, can crash together, creating a supernova that rocks lives and sends people careening off course.

It's at those times that characters are tested and paths are changed.

They are also the times when Emmett McCarty wished he could just turn his phone off. His cell (placed on vibrate after a series of panicked early morning calls) had been buzzing away on his desk for the last two hours. When he did finally get around to checking, his voicemail would no doubt be filled with a litany of colorful commentary: angry rants from his mother, tearful pleas for help from his sisters, and yet another offer of explanation and apology from his father. All this noise because his parents _happened_ to bump into each other at the airport.

Them bumping into each other after years of no contact would have been momentous enough, but that wasn't what spawned this latest chain of calls.

No, the calls came when the occasion for the trips were revealed. Apparently, Emmett's father was on his way to the Virgin Islands to marry wife number three (the second marriage to Emmett's mother was not added to the total) while his mother was on her way to Napa for a long weekend with her latest boyfriend.

They were completely innocuous, unrelated trips, which, upon collision, set off a chain of events that pulled the entire family into the fallout. A devastated mother, an apologetic father, and a new stepmother, an unidentified woman the McCarty children had yet to meet.

The last time there was an explosion of this magnitude was just after the McCarty's second divorce. Emmett's mother had called him at work, sobbing and ranting, too focused on her anger to remember it was her only son's twenty-sixth birthday. It would have been easy to hate her, and a lot of people probably would have, but Emmett knew his mother was in a bad place. Her oversight was not intentional – it never was.

That didn't make it hurt any less.

After twenty minutes of halfhearted commiseration, Emmett had disconnected and ran in the most literal of senses. Devastated by his mother's own pain and her inability to see anything around her, he jumped online and cobbled together a series of flights that would shuttle him from San Francisco to Gatlinburg, Tennessee. He'd barely made it out of the rental car and up the back steps of his grandparent's house before collapsing on the stoop in tears; the hurt, the loss, and the realization that his parents were finally _over_ tearing him up just as badly as it had when he was seven. To top it off, Emmett was embarrassed and disgusted by his childish response, which only made falling apart that much worse. It was ridiculous, a grown man crying because his parents loved each other too much to stay apart, and were too damn proud and angry at the world to stay together and work through their problems.

The screen door had creaked open behind him, and the smell of freshly baked bread and lemon verbena wafted out of the house and wrapped around Emmett like a warm hug. They were the scents of comfort and home. He'd never felt that in any of his parents houses, apartments, or condos, only here in Gatlinburg.

"Don't cry, Poppet," his nan cooed, running her hands through his dark, wavy hair. "They don't mean to hurt you. They just don't know how to _not_ destroy each other."

Nan always knew what was wrong, especially when it came to him. She continued to comb her fingers, gnarled by age and arthritis, through his hair, waiting as Emmett wiped his eyes with the back of his hand.

"Do you know why your granda taught you so much about baseball, Emmie?"

Emmett shook his head. In this backyard, he would always be a child, pretending to play baseball with his granda. He wished he could be that little boy again, and forget about all the baggage that was dumped on him. They were his parents - they were supposed to be the responsible ones. _They_ were supposed to deal with this shit, not expect him to fix it.

"Your granda wanted you to be able to love something that was yours, lad. That way, when you were ready, you would know how to see beyond all the shite-"

Emmett snorted, unable to suppress a reaction to the vulgarity, which was no doubt his nan's intent. The snot and tears burned the back of his throat, raw from flight and exhaustion, as he started to laugh. Nan merely flicked his ear, _just_ hard enough to sting, and continued on, "Yes, I said _shite_, Emmett McCarty, deal with it. Now stay here, I have something for you."

She shuffled into the house, her pristine white Keds whispering against the old wooden floorboards. When she returned, Nan carried an old faded shoebox, a thick layer of dust coating the once glossy surface.

"I was hoping for a warm cookie," Emmett said glibly. "You sure know how to wow a guy, Nan."

She sat back down on the stoop, and jabbed her slim, bony shoulder into his bicep. It was a gesture of camaraderie or kinship, something shared between two battle-scarred veterans who had learned to live through worse days than this.

"Take these, Poppet. Know that you were loved, and someday you'll find that kind of love with someone who's worthy of you. You don't have to repeat your parent's mistakes."

"But Es and Alice did," Emmett said, his voice husky from crying and hours in a pressurized cabin, thirty-five thousand feet above the ground. It was true. His older sister, Esme, had fallen into an abusive relationship, leaving and returning to her dickwad of a husband multiple times. She'd only _just_ gotten the courage to break free and file for divorce - no doubt prompted by Emmett's threat to kill the bastard if he ever touched her again. It was at the hospital, during a counseling session, where she met her current boyfriend, a British doctor who granda would have loved (and teased for being a limey git).

"Es worked it out," Nan insisted. "And Alice is getting better. I know it was hard for to take her to that clinic, but she's healing because of you. And now it's time to focus on yourself, Poppet. You've been strong for everyone else. It's time to think about you."

With a kiss to the top of his head, she left him alone with his parting gifts - an old, battered Nikon 35 millimeter camera and his granda's watch, a British Royal Air Force issue Omega, given to him during World War II. The face was scratched and casing battered after years of use, but to Emmett, it was perfect. At the bottom of the box was a sheet of paper, folded in half and yellowed with age.

The note, its black ink faded to a dark purple, was placed in a heavy wood frame and held a place of honor on Emmett's desk, a reminder of simpler days.

_Keep pitching the imaginary balls, Emmie. Someday you'll find someone who will hit them back to you, just like you used to do with me._

"Yo, dream girl!" The shout was accompanied by a soft smack on the top of Emmett's head. It broke him out of his daze, but not the self imposed funk that had colored his morning. "You were supposed to be off today. Come in to check your fan mail?"

Emmett placed the framed note, which he'd been holding a bit too tight, back on his desk and forced aside his foul mood. No one at the _Times_ knew his personal history, and Emmett found it was easier to compartmentalize that part of his life. With partitions up, it was easy to close doors and contain the areas with the most damage. They were like flood doors, containing the damage and keeping him afloat.

"Fuck you Gar, you're just pissed they chose me to be 'Ett 1," he shot back, affecting an easy smile. This was the response people expected of him here - The clown, the joker, the cool guy who flirted and told slightly off color jokes.

It was the only side he allowed anyone to see.

Garrett Adams, a business and technology reporter for _The Seattle Times_, sat on the edge of Emmett's desk, the morning paper rolled up like a baseball bat in his left hand. Garrett had been with _The Times_ for two years, and had taken Emmett under his wing after Emmett joined in February. They shared a love of sports and an acerbic, irreverent sense of humor, and an appreciation of good practical jokes. After encasing the food critic's stapler in a block of red Jell-o, one of the copy editors dubbed them 'Ett 1 and 'Ett 2, an homage to Dr. Seuss's _The Cat in the Hat._

Thing 1 and Thing 2 had nothing on them.

"How'd you pull that off anyway? Everyone knows I'm better looking," Garrett said, grabbing an Ichiro bobblehead off of Emmett's desk. He shook the plastic toy, snorting as the giant head bounced back and forth on the flimsy spring mechanism like a demonic leprechaun.

"You're just jealous _you_ don't get proposals from _your_ columns," Emmett teased. Garrett liked to needle him, and he refused to buckle, dishing back as good as he got. "And speaking of which, aren't you supposed to be off today?"

"You aren't the only one that gets fan mail, punk. It's just that _my_ groupies are hot, where as yours are old, fat and likely have facial hair. " Garrett placed the bobblehead back on his desk. "And to answer your question, I left my phone here. I'm lost without it."

"Oh the things I could say…" Emmett said with a melodramatic sigh. In the short time he'd known Garrett, he'd come to realize that Garrett would lose anything that was either not nailed down or watched over by his girlfriend, Kate. Garrett often made passing remarks about how Kate kept him grounded. Before that, it had been his roommate, Rosamund or Rosemary or something like that, who had the dubious responsibility for keeping his head on straight. It would seem that Garrett was the type of guy who needed a woman to function.

Kind of like Emmett's dad.

"Funny, you're overly pretty for just forgetting your phone. While I'm flattered you made the effort to get all dressed up for me, I prefer women, G."

Garrett cracked Emmett over the head again and dropped the newspaper on his desk, where it flopped open to display a series of photos, the familiar images disfigured - cartoon mustaches, horns and other different accoutrements doodled in black ink. "Which is why you're still single, no woman would put up with your shit. Flatter yourself all you like, this is for Lauren. I've got an article I want her to proof. Yorkie did it last time – that little fucker spelled out every damn acronym. LMAO needs to stay as LMAO!" Garrett ran a hand through his hair, ruffling it so the front spiked up and sucked in his cheeks. "How do I look?"

"I sure as hell wouldn't do you."

"Perfect, I'm gorgeous then." Garrett grabbed at the paper to smack Emmett again, but Emmett beat him to the punch, scooping up the business section and standing quickly. The height difference allowed him to thwack Garrett across the side of the head in retribution.

"Dude, not the hair!" Garrett cried. He mussed his hair again, then dropped his arms and shook his shoulders, reminding Emmett of a prize fighter getting ready to enter the ring. When going a few rounds with Lauren, the analogy wasn't all that far off. "Okay, time to brave the gauntlet. I'm taking care of this, then I'm outta here. We still on for tonight?"

"Like I have a choice," Emmett said. Garrett had been on his ass about having drinks with the roommate for weeks. Emmett had always come up with some excuse not to go, but the excuses were starting to wear thin. Short of needing a liver transplant or being attacked by a bear, Emmett would need a miracle to get out of it. "Is she going to bring me cake?"

The joke was in reference to the lone photo that sat on Garrett's desk, a faded image of two blonde toddlers, their faces smeared with ice cream and chocolate cake. The little girl, her blonde hair pulled back in two stubby pigtails, had wedged her food-covered hand in the other baby's hair. The first time Emmett saw it, he made the mistake of asking if they were Garrett's children.

"As if anything could ever be as gorgeous as baby G," he'd said, rubbing his knuckles proudly against his shirt.

"Is that like the royal we?" Emmett had shot back, forming the foundation for a relationship that had grown into a real friendship. "And if so, I didn't realize you were a queen. Nice pigtails."

"I'm all the man I'll ever need," Garrett corrected him. "That's my theoretical little sister and roommate. I was the first one to ever see her naked and I never let her forget it."

It was shortly after that conversation that Garrett started his frontal assault. Come hell or high water, he was going to force Emmett to meet his BFF with the cake fetish. Excuses were not accepted.

"I need to wrap up a few things here," Emmett said, not meeting Garrett's eye. "What time do I face the execution squad?"

Maybe Seattle public transit would put him out of his misery on the way over.

"We should be there around six. That is, assuming I survive." Garrett snapped his fingers, slamming his hand into his fist twice before composing himself. "Ready or not Lauren, here I come."

"Get her done, baby," Emmett called after him.

Hesitating at the edge of the bullpen, Garrett pulled his shoulders up to his ears, shaking his head in revulsion. "I might have just thrown up in my mouth," he said, and dropped his hands protectively to the seat of his pants. "But I'm giving up if she pinches my ass again. I'll see _you_ in an hour, if not, please send help."

"As if. Think about who you're talking to. Lauren can bruise your candy ass for all I care."

"No love," Garrett sighed, hiking his bag up over his shoulder. "Six o'clock. No excuses."

Emmett waved him off, and turned back to his desk. He spent the next fifteen minutes coloring in the o's and d's on the front page, wishing he could have been the one to disfigure Garrett's byline picture.

The horns really had been a nice touch.

Most of the reporters called it a day around two after their stories wrapped and put to bed. With no one to talk to, Emmett propped his feet up on his desk, and used his Blackberry to scroll through different blogs Garrett had turned him on to. They were his daily catharsis, little glimpses of oddities and other hangups that proved there were people out there with lives just as fragmented as his own. People spilling their guts online, telling their deepest, darkest secrets, looking for the type of release that didn't come from working out, drinking, or any other more cathartic venues.

He was on a regional rip off of post secret when he found the entry. It was a poignant photo of a wilted long stemmed rose, lying discarded on the cracked, wet sidewalk. The elegant ivory petals had wilted, discolored by bruises. The bloom had probably been beautiful once, the stem stripped free of thorns and leaves to insert in a bouquet or a vase. It was abandoned and unwanted now, faded glory and memories of what might have been. At the bottom of the photo, embedded in a looping red script, were two short sentences.

_I'm through prepping rookies so they can go on to the show. Enjoy your Mr. Perfect, he's my last._

Emmett stared at the image, dumbfounded. Someone, most likely a woman by the writing, had summed up so much in just a few short lines, using a quote from Bull Durham, no less. It described exactly what Emmett felt when he set his phone on vibrate earlier that morning. He was tired of being the strong one, of carrying the load and making it better for everyone else. He was tired of fixing things for other people. He wanted to tell them all to stop, to leave him alone and let him find some peace, but he didn't have a clue how. After his nan's death five years ago, he'd become the adult in a world of children, and he was tired of it.

"Fuck it," Emmett muttered under his breath. He flicked the trackball with his thumb, rolling the cursor back up to hover over the username - Lily7673. With another tap, the BlackBerry loaded the private message screen, an unpopulated text box wide open and waiting for him to spill his guts.

In thirty-three years, Emmett had never spilled his guts to anyone besides his grandparents, and after five years of holding it all in, he was ready to burst. Maybe this post was a sign. Maybe it was time for him to let go and hope that someone out there might understand.

_I've never been to the show_, he typed, struggling to recall the context of the quote. _But I can tell you that I believe in opening my presents on Christmas morning, I've never read anything by Susan Sontag, and that vodka is always superior to scotch_. _Don't let the rookies get you down. _

"Good luck, whoever you are," Emmett said, pressing the trackball to send the message. "I know exactly how you feel."

**-0-0-0-**

As promised, Emmett stood just inside the pub door at six. He waited for his eyes to adjust to the dim room, listening to the music and clinking glasses. It was surprisingly crowded for a weeknight, with clusters of young professionals unwinding after a long day. Here and there, knots of women huddled together, whispering and giggling like packs of school girls. They all had the same look - polished, perky, grown-up cheerleaders searching for their Mr. Right, or at least Mr. Right Now.

In the past, these were the types of women Emmett would have gravitated toward, for they had always been happy to bend over backwards to accommodate whatever he might need. Only recently had he come to realize that these types of women bored him. Emmett wanted an equal, someone who would challenge him and not be afraid to throw a few pitches at his knees. He didn't expect perfection (that was his mom's greatest shortcoming) but he did expect friendship in addition to love or lust or whatever the hell else it felt like. That wouldn't come from someone faking it to make him happy or get what they wanted.

Not finding Garrett, Emmett moved toward an open space at the bar to order a drink. He was cut off a lanky man with short dark hair who reeked of cologne. The man's gaze was locked on a woman at the end of the bar, and he brushed past Emmett, bumping into him without acknowledgement or apology.

Emmett watched as the short man (who he dubbed Clueless Joe) plowed through the crowd. Clueless stopped just short of the blonde woman he'd been watching before, sitting alone at the end of the bar. Her shoulders were rounded in, body closed off as her fingers flew across the surface of an iPhone. The man's lips moved, most likely spewing forth some pathetic line like "I'm good with my fingers too," but the blonde didn't look up. Refusing to be shaken off, the man stepped closer, wrapping his fingers around the blonde's bicep to claim her attention. It did the trick, her phone clattering to the bar as she jerked her head up sharply. When she did, the golden hair fell back from her face, like a stage curtain being drawn for the opening act. There was a split second of shock before a mask of haughty composition slipped into place, and it almost made Emmett feel sorry for Clueless.

Almost.

In profile, the woman was classically beautiful - high cheekbones and healthy skin like something out of a soap commercial. Her features were tempered by a snub nose, the tip slightly upturned, lending a youthful, spirited air. It only made her that much more striking.

It wasn't the expected things, like big blue eyes and full red lips that lured men in, but the unexpected, the slightest hint of magic, or a splash of freckles across the narrow bridge of a beautiful women's nose. A hint of mystery, masking rocks before the shoreline, that did it every damn time.

"Okay, Helen," Emmett muttered, dubbing the woman Helen of Troy. "Let's see how Clueless fares under that bitch face."

Clueless started to speak again, and Emmett had to press his hand to his mouth to stifle the laughter. Helen gave him a withering stare, one that could have dropped the temperature in the room by five degrees, but Clueless would not back off. He stepped closer, his chest pressing up against her arm, his eyes focusing on the low cut neckline of her shirt. Helen's nose wrinkled, no doubt getting bitch-slapped by the bad cologne that lingered like a cloud around Emmett. She slowly unwound herself from her barstool, jaw locked, as she stood to stare _down_ at Clueless. At her full height, Helen was easily two inches taller than her would-be suitor, an Amazon in both size and stature. She glowered down at him with absolute disdain, her posture clearly communicating that he should take a long walk off a short pier.

In an unexpected flash, Emmett called to mind his nan and the way she'd always stood up to his father, or the way she'd take people down a peg or two when they were mistreating others. That memory launched Emmett into motion, his body moving before his brain could catch up. He crossed the room quickly, stopping just short of Helen, who was still starting down at Clueless.

She was much taller up close, easily 6'1 in heels that hurt his ankles just to look at. It was rare that a woman cleared Emmett's chin, let alone stand anywhere close to eye level with him. The last time a woman had looked him directly in the eye, he'd been fifteen years old, which is what the beautiful blonde with the furious expression made him feel like now.

"Hey babe, sorry I'm late," he said, angling his body so that Clueless could only catch the back of his head. Emmett's eyebrows shot up, trying to silently plead for her to 'just play along.' "Got hung up with some stuff at the office that couldn't wait. Did you order yet?"

Emmett was aware of Clueless, standing to his right, taking everything in and waiting for a sign of weakness. The guy wasn't going to get a clue unless it was forced down his throat. Emmett leaned in slowly, brushing a kiss across Helen's cheek. After years of kissing petite women, her height threw him off balance, and he gauged the distance wrong, planting the kiss at the corner of her mouth instead of further up, closer to her temple where he intended.

The woman jerked sharply, her dark blue eyes full of fire.

"It's okay," he whispered, "just play along."

As he spoke, Emmett was assaulted by the scent of lemon verbena. A series of memories flickered through his mind - laughter, sunlight and green grass, a dark blue Buick, and he quickly slammed shut that compartment door. This was a rescue mission, in and out, where he would be the good guy doing the type of thing his nan had raised to do.

Hastily turning away, Emmett extended his hand to Clueless. "Thanks for keeping my girl company. We both appreciate it."

At his full height, Emmett knew he was intimidating to 99.9% of the male population. He'd also been schooled by his sisters to 'create an image, leave an impression.' While there was nothing over the top about jeans and a black v-neck sweater, it was the way he carried himself and his build that made their mark. Clueless looked him up and down, taking in the chest that rivaled some pro baseball players and a well tailored, grey flannel blazer, it gave the onlooker a very clear message: big, strong, and more than capable of fucking up your face or your business. No man would ever want to compete with him.

"Figures," Clueless mumbled, turning away. "An ice queen and a dumb jock."

Neither Emmett nor the blonde moved for a minute, watching as the man roamed around the bar, ultimately descending on a small group of unsuspecting victims.

"Sorry about that," Emmett apologized hastily. Without anything to hold on to he ran his hands through his hair, a gesture that had always managed to betray his discomfort. "It didn't look like Clueless was going to back off, and I could tell you didn't want a scene. I was raised that women should be treated better than that."

"I didn't want a scene," the blonde said coolly, "some guys can't take a hint."

She turned away from him, scooping up her phone to resume her typing.

Emmett expected her to say something more, to offer to buy him a drink or even say thanks, but she was too focused on her phone, her thumbs flying across the screen.

"Can I help you?" She asked, never looking up.

"A thank you would be nice, if not polite," he said, using the same look he used on his nan when he got caught trying to sneak cookies before dinner. He wished he could lean in closer and take another breath, desperate to know if the woman really did use lemon verbena soap or if it was just his imagination. Then he would snatch the phone away and tell her she was being rude. Old habits die hard.

"Sorry," the blonde said, slipping her phone into her bag. "I'm meeting friends and they just arrived. If you'll excuse me." She didn't make eye contact, just pulled her coat and free from the bar stool and draped a bright red scarf over her arm. It fluttered behind her as she walked briskly across the room.

"Well if that wasn't…charming," he mumbled, leaning up against the bar. He'd done a good deed, and the woman had been a total bitch. Guess _her_ nan hadn't been such a stickler for manners.

A quick wave to the bartender secured him a drink, two fingers of vodka over ice, and he pulled out his phone to check for a message from Garrett. "I hope Lauren did pinch your ass, you sorry fucker," he mumbled. Why should he be the only one suffering through this hell?

Seven new emails, including an alert that he had a private message from Lily7673. Emmett scrolled up quickly to open the email.

_You forgot the line about soft core porn and long slow wet kisses, which means you are either chicken or a gentleman. Which is it? And who are you?_

_Lily_

"Well I'll be damned," he murmured. The smile that spread across his face was involuntary, and Emmett didn't even realize it was there until he'd replied and hit send.

_Just consider me a player to be named later. I was raised to be a gentleman, even if people don't always appreciate it. And because I'm a gentleman, I'll ask you something more polite – how do you feel about William Blake? We can talk about the designated hitter later._

"William _Fucking_ Blake," Emmett said, smiling to himself. He hit send, and looked up just in time to catch the blonde approach Garrett, the tip of her index finger wedged between her lips as she twisted her hand back and forth. When she was close enough, the woman pulled her finger free and stuck it in Garrett's ear, swirling it with such force that it _had_ to be painful. Garrett jerked free and pushed her away with an affectionate shove.

"Rosalie Hale, that was dis-gus-ting!" he protested, rubbing the side of his head against his shoulder. "If I didn't love you like a sister, you would be upside down in a flushing toilet right now."

The blonde's delighted laugh rang across the room, deeper than what Emmett would have expected.

"In your dreams, G. Last time you tried to take me down, I gave you a bloody nose. Do you really want to go there again?"

Emmett picked up his vodka, and tossed it back in one gulp. The woman he'd just dubbed Helen was Garrett's roommate, and most likely the infamous best friend he was supposed to be introduced to tonight.

"What a way to make a first impression, McCarty," he said, slipping his phone in his pocket and preparing for another painful round of disdain and rejection. At least he was going in knowing what to expect.

And he would go in like a gentleman and make his nan proud.

* * *

**We'll see you next week.**

**In the meantime, if you want to see the original Bull Durham quote in all its glorious context: **http:/www (dot)youtube(dot)com/watch?v=sBfdl6hNZ9k.


	2. What's the Worst That Could Happen?

**Chapter 2 – What's the Worst That Could Happen? **

There's something about the internet that invites the world to tell it their secrets. It beckons, promises never to tell. And people do. They reveal hidden parts of their lives that they wouldn't dare utter out loud or in the light of day, or even in the darkest of nights. That silent, invisible weight is lifted from the shoulders of the confessor while their burden drifts off into space. And maybe it's read by someone halfway around the world or two houses down the street; if you listen closely enough, you can almost hear the chorus of "me toos." But in so many ways, the secret remains just that: a secret. Faceless. Nameless. Safe.

Perhaps that was why Rosalie Hale hit that submit button last week. She hadn't ever been one to purge to girlfriends, had never been the type to share her feelings and wishes for the future, but the weight of everything that had happened in the past year had finally been too heavy. She had to tell someone.

So she told the secrets blog she read on a nearly religious – and definitely furtive – basis, because who else was she going to tell? Garrett? He was already worried about her, though he didn't say it out loud. Nearly thirty years of knowing him and she could read his every expression. She knew what his concern looked like – that crease that went right down the middle of his brow, the way his bottom lip jutted out, how the right side of his mouth pulled not up, but out. He gave her the look when he thought she wasn't looking, because he knew she'd kick his ass if she caught him, but she saw it, felt it.

She hadn't wanted to talk to her parents about her feelings or the news that had been the catalyst for all of this. None of them were emotionally demonstrative and while she knew they would be there for her if she needed them, she didn't want to go down that road.

That left Kate, their newest roommate and Garrett's other half. Despite the fact that Rosalie had forged a friendship with her like she hadn't been able to (or rather, _wanted _to) with Garrett's past girlfriends, she didn't feel comfortable making herself vulnerable in that way. She could barely _say_ the word without shuddering.

Instead, Rosalie had curled up on the couch that night and poured her heart out to her good friend Pinot Noir and Balthazar, the Rhodesian Ridgeback who thought he was a Shih Tzu ninety percent of the time and had at one point in time been _theirs._

But he'd said goodbye to the dog just as easily as he'd said goodbye to Rosalie.

Balthazar had always liked her better, anyway.

All things considered, she and Edward shouldn't have lasted as long as they did. The way they'd met should have been a sign. She'd been behind his wheezing piece of shit Volvo that in the years to come he'd refuse time and time again to get rid of (probably because Rosalie told him what a piece of shit it was and that he should get rid of it). The light had turned from green to yellow and Rosalie had stepped on the gas, anticipating that he'd breeze through it like any other person on the face of the earth would. But what she didn't understand then, what she'd come to understand in the subsequent eight years they were together, was that Edward didn't do much of what she expected. So instead he'd slammed on his brakes and she'd slammed into his bumper. Her first words to him had been "you asshole" and his "what the fuck were you thinking?" Somehow the yelling had turned into flirting while they were waiting for the tow trucks and the flirting into dinner and sex at his off-campus apartment. Those words were what they had built their relationship on, and for a while it had been good. Sometimes even great.

Their parting words to one another had been much quieter. The fire – of passion, of anger, of love – had died out. There was nothing left to fan.

Last week, Rosalie had heard through the grapevine that Bella, the girl Edward started dating not a month after they'd called it quits, was now his fiancé.

It wasn't the engagement that had thrown Rosalie over the edge. She had come to terms with the fact that she and Edward wouldn't have been forever, though hindsight had thrown the spotlight on that fact. She hadn't wanted to see it before.

No, it was that in eight years of dating Rosalie, he'd barely been able to _hear _the word marriage without wincing. And yet twelve months later, he was pledging his life to someone else. It made her feel irrelevant, like she'd been his proverbial training wheels, discarded and tossed aside when he was ready to be a big boy.

The wilted rose she'd found on Google images had been the photographic equivalent of that feeling, and the _Bull Durham _quote the words she hadn't known how to say. It had been so easy to put together, so quick to upload on the blog and hit submit.

Of course, she'd been completely shit-faced and all alone in the house she, Garrett and Kate shared in Queen Anne. They'd been off on some lover's retreat for the weekend, leaving Rosalie with the opportunity to make that absolutely ridiculous drunken mistake. She'd woken up the next morning on the couch, hugging the empty wine bottle with Balthazar stretched out below her, hoping, _praying_ that she'd just dreamed it, that she really wasn't fucking stupid enough to do what she feared she had. And when she saw the evidence that she indeed _was _stupid enough staring back at her on the blog, she ran to the bathroom and kneeled in front of the toilet. She threw up and let herself cry for approximately two and half minutes, let herself feel sorry and sad and pissed off. And then she wiped her face, brushed her teeth, and took Balthazar for a run. When Garrett and Kate came back the next night, she was as good as new.

She was fine.

There was a knock at her bedroom door and she startled, pulled out of her thoughts. She stalled the fingers that had been rubbing along her collarbone, a nervous tic she'd always had. Garrett said it was her only tell, though he could read her just as well as she could him. They'd been best friends since they were still in diapers; there wasn't much they didn't know about one another, not many secrets between them.

His familiar sandy-blonde head of hair poked tentatively through the doorway.

"Are you decent?" Garrett's muffled voice asked.

"I'd like to think I'm better than decent, but you'd have to ask around," she called back. She pulled a pair of black stilettos from the closet she'd been staring blankly into for the past five minutes and slipped them onto her feet.

The door swung fully open and Garrett strolled in, hands in his pockets, looking overly nonchalant. Balthazar was right behind him, tail swinging lazily back and forth. Rosalie plainly caught the look of relief flashing across Garrett's features when he saw that she had changed from her work clothes to attire more appropriate for a night out at the bars, though, and she rolled her eyes.

"Coming to check up on me?"

He snorted. "Dude, how many happy hours have you ditched out on?"

"Excuse me for not wanting to fight off yet another douchebag slinging shitty pick-up lines," she shot back as he sat on the edge of her bed, stretching his long legs out in front of him. Balthazar plopped down at his feet, looking up at Rosalie with plaintive eyes. She shot him an apologetic look, wishing that she could curl up with him on the couch and watch a movie.

"You do seem to be a magnet for them," Garrett admitted.

It was her turn to snort. She walked over to her dresser, removing the opal ring her mom had given her for her sixteenth birthday, and reached for her lemon verbena lotion. She looked at her reflection as she worked the lotion into her skin. Her eyes were tired, a little tight at the corners, holding on to the tension she hadn't found a way to let go of. "Right, forget being able to leap tall buildings in a single bound. My superpower is attracting every lame guy in the Seattle metropolitan area."

"Not that you're looking."

Rosalie caught Garrett's eye in the mirror. He'd said it casually, but his gaze was fixed on her, probing, knowing. She looked away and slid her ring back on, her heart constricting. "No point," she clipped out.

She hadn't gone out of her way to date since things had ended with Edward. Garrett had brought it up after six months, his voice edged with a foreign tenderness that in the moment had made her snap at him to mind his business. Later, it had spurred the tears that silently soaked into her pillow.

She'd been telling herself all these months that there was no one out there for her, that she was destined to be the girl who would never fit the mold men sculpted for her. She knew what they saw when they looked at her – a beautiful face and body, a centerfold. A fantasy. They rarely wanted to discover what was underneath the blonde hair and the curves and she knew that. She'd been on the receiving end of way too many stupid pick-up lines and third dates that led to turned-down invitations home to think otherwise. With the exception of Edward, it had happened time and time again. She expected it, anticipated it, so she didn't bother trying.

But deep down, she wondered if she was scared of the possibility that there _was _someone out there for her, someone who would take the time to dig deeper. She didn't want to believe in love again, to give years and _herself_ only to have it all taken away.

"Yeah, so about that…" Garrett said, rubbing the back of his neck. Rosalie turned on her heel, recognizing his slightly sheepish tone.

"The dumbass in your voice just went up about five hundred decibels."

"One of my buddies from work is going to be at the bar tonight and I want you to meet him," he continued, ignoring her insult.

She stared at him incredulously. "Garrett."

"Rosalie," he responded suavely, throwing her a grin.

"I don't want to be set up with any of your friends."

"Why not?"

"Because your friends are assholes." That was a gross exaggeration, but she couldn't help thinking of the guys he played ball with at the court down the street, the same ones that always talked to her tits instead of her face. She thought of the co-workers she'd met at holiday parties and sports events and happy hours much like the one they were about to go to. Maybe they were nice guys, but they'd only ever wanted one thing from her. She didn't feel like dealing with that tonight, not when she was still feeling the sting of Edward's big news.

"Case in point," Garrett replied, gesturing to her as he stood up.

"I'm serious." She reached out to punch him but he dodged her easily, his body hard-wired after so many years of this dance.

He shot her an indignant look. "Shit, so am I."

"Well, then why are you trying to set this guy up with me?"

Garrett crossed his arms and appraised her for a long moment before answering. "Because, despite what you seem to believe since you and Cullen broke up, you deserve to be happy too."

"Jesus, Gar," she groaned, letting the irritation in her voice hide the sudden ache in her chest.

"Oh, I know, _feelings_." He gave an exaggerated shudder and this time Rosalie's fist made contact, clipping him on the shoulder. "Seriously, keep doing that shit and I'm going to change my mind."

Rosalie let out a sarcastic sob. "I'm heartbroken."

"Okay, listen, let's make a deal," he replied. Her lips twisted up into a reluctant smile. So many of their conversations at some point included "let's make a deal." It was their metaphorical white flag, a way to get back to an even playing field. "You're already dressed and ready to go, right?"

She looked down and nodded halfheartedly, taking in her silk blouse and dark jeans, the heels that brought her to face level with most men. She wondered if Garrett had waited to tell her about his friend until she was already committed to going, knowing she'd have put up a hell of a lot more fight if he'd said anything earlier. She had to give him props for his battle plan.

"So just meet him. If you think he's a total asshole, you have something to rub in my face for the rest of your life."

She raised an eyebrow, trying to figure out what his angle was. Balthazar hopped up and trotted over to her, leaning heavily against her leg. She absently scratched at his head. "You're that sure of this guy, huh?"

He looked closely at her. "Do you think I'd riskyou with someone that I wasn't sure of, Rose?"

There was a sudden lump in Rosalie's throat and she looked down at Balthazar as she pet him, letting her hair act as a curtain between her and Garrett. He'd been her support system when her relationship with Edward had ended. She'd felt the final shift a few days before the night they'd said goodbye for good, had realized after she and Edward had fought that they weren't fixable. They'd always had arguments over everything under the sun (the best way to boil an egg, how to divide their shared bills, why Edward hastily changed the subject when their mutual friends wondered why they hadn't gotten married yet, which way the toilet paper should face on its roll), but they'd always been loud, passionate. They'd always made up afterward. The erosion had been so subtle that she hadn't even seen it until that night when their words to one another were quiet, when there was only the soft click of the front door behind him, when the apartment remained silent all night.

That had been the worst part, the quiet, knowing that neither of them had the energy or interest in fighting anymore, whether it was with each other or for their relationship.

Garrett had been there through all of that. He'd let her and Balthazar crash at the sparse studio apartment he was living in at the time, had helped her search for her own place. She'd found a perfect quaint craftsman in a quiet neighborhood on Craigslist that she couldn't possibly afford on her own, even with the generous paycheck she collected as a financial analyst, and Garrett had decided that his apartment wasn't really working out for him after all. Two weeks later, they'd driven a U-Haul across town and she'd moved all of her belongings into the room they were standing in now, heavy with the weight of the change her life had taken in just a short stretch of days. A month after that, Garrett and Kate reached for the same grande latte at Starbucks and two months ago, Kate had moved in with them. Rosalie was still counting her blessings that the two bedrooms were on opposite sides of the house.

Through all of that, Garrett had been there for her. He'd been her closest friend for nearly all of the twenty-eight years they'd been alive, and had been the best he'd ever been for the past twelve months. She trusted him and that wasn't something she could say about many people. She wasn't sure what made this guy so different, but she owed it to Garrett to at least try.

Maybe she owed it to herself, too.

Rosalie looked back at Garrett, standing a few feet away with one eyebrow raised in question. He stayed silent, waiting for her thoughts to smooth themselves out.

"All right," she finally said with a shrug. She was definitely curious, but Garrett didn't need to know that. She didn't want either of them to get their hopes up.

"Good, that's my girl," Garrett replied with a wide smile, ruffling her hair.

She smacked his hand away, rolling her eyes. "I said I'd meet him, not marry him and have his babies. Take it down a notch."

He rolled his eyes back mockingly and made his way toward the door. "I'm going to swing by Kate's office and pick her up, so we'll meet you there at six, okay?"

Rosalie briefly played around with the idea of being annoyed that she'd be showing up alone. But maybe it was better this way – she could get there a little early, have a glass of wine to loosen up a bit, catch up on the emails that had been causing her phone to buzz on her nightstand for the past thirty minutes. She could easily handle the douchebags at the bar until Garrett and Kate showed up. She'd honed her withering bitch glare well enough over the years to deflect any unwanted advances.

"Okay."

Garrett opened his mouth to respond and then closed it, his head jerking back slightly in surprise. "Okay?"

"What, do you _want_ me to be difficult? I can switch it on real quick."

"No, really?" he gasped teasingly.

"_Bye_. I'll see you at six." Garrett waved over his shoulder as he disappeared down the hallway and Rosalie called out after him, "Don't be late."

"Cross my heart," he called back.

She heard the front door open and close, heard Garrett's car start in the driveway, and then the house was blanketed in a quiet that unnerved her. Quiet house meant loud thoughts and she didn't feel like thinking right now. She crossed the room quickly to her closet, gathering her jacket and red cashmere scarf and pulling them both on. And then she stopped in front of the mirror, wiping at an invisible smudge of eyeliner underneath her eye, running her hands through her hair and letting it fan around her shoulders, pale gold against the vibrant scarlet of her scarf. She wondered what Garrett's friend would think when he saw her. She wondered if maybe this time it would be different. Garrett had seemed pretty confident and that buoyed her, however microscopically.

Chances were that she'd be disappointed like she always was. But she couldn't help the split-second tug of anticipation in her stomach.

"What's the worst that could happen, right?" She looked down at Balthazar, who raised a dubious doggy eyebrow. She sighed and looked back to her reflection, her mouth set in a determined line. "Right."

**-0-0-0-**

Apparently someone – Murphy, it seemed – had been listening and wanted a show, because the worst that could happen was happening.

Rosalie had just paid Garrett back for being late with a much-deserved wet willy, an effective torture device she'd employed since they were little. He was bitching back at her, wiping his ear on his shoulder with a scowl, when his eyes slipped just past her and lit up with recognition.

"Ah, here he comes. Emmett!"

She looked over her shoulder, following the path of Garrett's gaze, which led straight to…

"Fuck," Rosalie hissed under her breath, whipping back around. She could feel her face and neck heating up and her hand flew to her collarbone, instinctively trying to calm the panic that was quickly invading every corner of her body.

Her unasked-for knight in shining armor was headed right for them.

She'd gotten to the bar early as planned. After ordering a glass of red wine, she'd settled on a stool that was tucked into a corner, hoping to be invisible for a while or at the very least remain undisturbed. And then she'd gone to work on her email inbox, checking her work account first before moving onto her personal one. The first couple of emails had been par for the course – an email from Bloomingdale's promoting a sale and one from her mom with a recipe for homemade chicken noodle soup, her way of telling her daughter to take care of herself without having to come right out and say it.

The third email had been an alert from the domain site that hosted the secrets blog. She had a message.

Intrigued, she'd opened it up, read it once and then again, letting the words sink in.

_I've never been to the show_. _But I can tell you that I believe in opening my presents on Christmas morning, I've never read anything by Susan Sontag, and that vodka is always superior to scotch_. _Don't let the rookies get you down. _

Her hand went to her mouth and she'd felt her lips pull up into a smile against her palm. She'd posted her secret without thought and most definitely without expectation. She'd almost managed to forget that other people would see it, that they would read it and maybe connect to the words.

But here was tangible proof, right in her inbox, that it had resonated. That she had been heard. That someone else understood what she was feeling, anonymous though he (she assumed he was a he with a name like Mac477) may have been.

It had been her silent "me too."

Her heart had beat heavily while she sat hunched over her phone and typed out a response, asking whether his omission of the more colorful parts of the _Bull Durham _quote he'd referenced was due to him being a gentleman or a chicken. She almost erased her last sentence – _who are you? _– but realized as her finger hovered over the delete key that she wanted to know, at least as much as she could know a nameless face, an anonymous screen name. She wanted to know what it had been about her picture that had caused him to respond.

She'd been so completely wrapped up in her task that she hadn't felt the presence next to her until a hand wrapped around her bicep.

It never failed. These assholes flocked to her like bees to honey. She'd tried to shake the guy off but he was persistent, even after she stood up and silently let him know that she wasn't like the petite, perky girls that frequented this bar. _Those_ girls were the ones who'd have one too many Whatevertinis and fall for his unoriginal come-ons, then fall into bed with him when they were too drunk to know better. It certainly wasn't her MO.

Kate had once teasingly called Rosalie's collection of sky-high heels her "fuck you pumps," and it wasn't far from the truth. She was taller than a good percentage of men when she wore them. The added height made her feel untouchable, or at the very least more intimidating. She was trying to send a message when she wore them, and most of the time the guys that hit on her figured it out quickly.

This one was apparently too stupid to get a clue.

But suddenly she'd been staring at a chiseled jaw and the full lips above it had said something about being late. Vibrant blue eyes had silently implored her to go along with what was happening, and she had because she was too shocked to do anything else. She'd practically fallen over when his lips had touched her skin, dangerously close to the corner of her mouth. He'd looked equally shocked and she'd known that it hadn't been purposeful. It had been the only thing that saved him from having her smack his face off his head.

After being bitch-slapped by rejection, the other guy had skulked off to find someone more willing to buy into his bullshit and Rosalie had been left with this man who had randomly swooped in and rescued her.

She was, of course, immediately suspicious. Men just didn't do things for her without expecting something in return. She'd learned that lesson many times over and the hard way. She wondered what this guy was hoping for - a thank you in the form of a drink? A date? Something more?

_Sorry, pal_, _I've got your number, _she'd thought, picking her phone back up.

He was tall, broad-shouldered, well dressed and armed with a smile that probably dropped panties from miles away, though there was something inherently genuine and almost boyish about it. Still, she forced herself to ignore the fact that he was absolutely gorgeous. She'd brushed him off, re-engaging what she felt was her best asset in times like these: the ability to be a stone-cold bitch.

They always wanted something and she just couldn't bring herself to believe that a simple _thank you_ would have sufficed. The memory of his surprise when he'd kissed her flashed through her mind, but she'd pushed it away.

And that had been the end of it. Another one bit the dust.

Only now he was coming toward them with a smile that held the ghost of a grimace and Rosalie was regretting ever letting Garrett talk her into doing this.

"Hey, man, you made it," Garrett called out, grinning widely. Rosalie had to clasp her hands in front of her so she wouldn't slap it off of him. Her discomfort often managed to morph into irritation and right now she was feeling both in droves.

Would-Be Knight – _Emmett_, she reminded herself – stopped in front of them and raised his glass, his grin turning sardonic. Rosalie couldn't help noticing the perfect symmetry of it, the straight white teeth it showed off, the dimples that played peek-a-boo at the edges of his curled-up mouth.

"Couldn't be happier about it, either." Emmett's gaze slid to Rosalie and she felt her cheeks go hot when he aimed those dimples at her. Talk about weapons of mass destruction. Her poor knees were taking the brunt of it. "Hello again."

Rosalie stared at him for a beat, disarmed by his smile and the easy tone of his voice. "Hi," she replied.

_Brilliant, Rosalie_, she thought internally rolling her eyes.

"Do you two know each other?" Garrett asked, confused, his gaze darting between them.

"Oh, we haven't been properly introduced. But he did _kiss _me," she said, finally recovering to a more comfortable state of sarcasm.

Garrett frowned and Rosalie recognized the crease of concern between his brows. "Uhhhh."

"That was an accident," Emmett said defensively. An annoyingly adorable swath of pink bloomed on his cheeks and it only spurred her on.

"Your lips accidentally fell on my face? Hmm, that's a new one."

He rolled his eyes. "I was trying to help you."

"Did it look like I needed help?" she asked, hackles raised. She was perfectly capable of taking care of herself. Granted, he'd gotten rid of the guy much more quickly than she probably would've been able to, but at some point she would've gotten the message through, even if it had meant sticking her stiletto through that thick skull of his.

"Actually, yes, which is why – wait for it –" Emmett paused dramatically, eyes wide. "I came over to _help you_."

Her eyes narrowed. "I would've taken care of it. I have plenty of experience dealing with unwanted advances." She threw him a saccharine smile and then added, just to be clear, "I didn't need your help."

He shot her an easy smile in return, downing the rest of his drink and setting the glass down on the table next to them with a satisfied smack of his lips. His beautiful, perfect lips. Rosalie's gaze lingered on them for just a second…just one more second…before making it back up to his eyes, which were amused and challenging. "Sweetheart, that's one of several things you _do _need."

"_Sweetheart_?" she repeated, eyebrow arched.

"There were other names as contenders, trust me. I was trying to be nice."

"Oh, right." She waved her hand in the air. "That's your thing."

His eyes widened in earnest this time and he let out a small, incredulous laugh. "My _thing_? Since when is being nice a thing?"

"Since you decided to use it as a means to get into girls' pants, I would suspect," Rosalie shot back primly.

Emmett raised an eyebrow, his gaze making a quick sweep of her before settling back on her face. She didn't miss the way his eyes sparked with good humor, even as he drawled, "Well, I hate to break it to you but I wasn't trying to get into your pants."

"And yet you kissed me," she repeated, because apparently that was the only detail she remembered from their previous interaction. "Funny how that sends such a mixed message, isn't it?"

Kate walked up at that moment, her eyebrows going up into her hairline. "Whoa, what did I miss while I was in the bathroom?"

"Rosalie and Emmett apparently have some history," Garrett replied. His expression was a little bemused, like he wasn't sure what to make of the situation. Somehow Rosalie didn't think he'd anticipated it going quite this way. Then again, neither had she. "I'm still not sure if I need to introduce you two or not."

Rosalie looked sideways at Emmett, who was looking at her out of the corner of his eye appraisingly.

He shrugged. "We should probably make it official."

"I guess that would be the_ nice _thing to do," she replied, one corner of her mouth twitching. He caught it and smiled wryly. It was infectious; Rosalie felt the other corner pull up almost against her will. "If you can keep your mouth to yourself this time, that is."

"I'll try my hardest," he deadpanned.

"I'm sure you will."

He held out his hand and she hesitated for a split second before taking it. His fingers, surprisingly long, closed around her hand and she swallowed, off-balance for the second time tonight from his touch. "Emmett McCarty."

"Rosalie Hale," she replied, all too aware that Garrett and Kate were watching this exchange closely. She could almost see the question marks over their head.

_Join the club_, she thought as Emmett released his hold on her.

She had no idea what to do with him. He'd lobbed every verbal curve ball she'd thrown at him back easily, had given as good as he got. What's more, he'd done it all with a smile on his face, like he was amused rather than put off by the attitude she'd slung at him. He was sarcastic, definitely a smart ass, but everything he said had an undercurrent of good nature that both intrigued and confused her. She'd always used her attitude as a means of either driving men away or, with Edward, evoking a reaction. She remembered clearly all of their fights, how she used her sarcasm to incite, deflect, defend, how Edward's tolerance for it dwindled over the years until it didn't exist at all. She and Garrett loved to verbally spar, but it was familial, brother and sister.

She'd forgotten what it felt like to truly engage; the zip of electricity working its way through her veins surprised her.

More than that, it scared her. It made her pull back, bring up the walls that had somehow managed to lower themselves (however slightly). Luckily, Garrett was particularly enchanted by the sound of his own voice and kept up conversation between the four of them for the next half hour. In fact, he only shot her a marginally put out look when she announced that she was tired and heading out.

"You're a real party animal, Hale," he said, watching with dismay as Rosalie shrugged on her jacket. Her gaze slid to Emmett briefly while she grabbed her purse sitting on the table. He was watching her, his expression easy and calm, holding a fresh drink in his hand.

"Oh, leave her alone, Gar. It's not like it's Saturday night." Kate shoved Garrett gently before smoothing out a wrinkle in his jacket, her eyes warm and affectionate. Though it was sometimes hard to be around them, Rosalie did love that Garrett had finally found someone that deserved him and loved him so much, so openly.

"It's seven o'clock," Garrett pointed out before turning to Rosalie. "You're a lightweight."

"I hope you get completely wasted tonight so I can torture you in the morning," Rosalie replied.

Garrett shook his head. "Real cute."

"Watch your back, bitch." Rosalie turned to Emmett, who was looking back and forth between them, amused. "It was _nice _to meet you, Emmett."

"The pleasure was all mine," he said, not seeming nearly as sarcastic as she would have expected.

She was halfway out the front door when she felt a hand on her arm. When she turned, Emmett was there. Her heart skipped a beat and her fingers curled tightly around the door handle.

"Hey," he said, sounding slightly unsure.

"Uh, hey." Jesus, she was batting a thousand when it came to intelligent responses tonight.

"I really was just trying to help you earlier, you know." He shifted from foot to foot, running his hand through his hair. Her eyes followed the movement, her fingers twitching with something that felt a little like jealousy, before settling back on his face.

"And I really could have handled it on my own," she replied. "You don't have to save every damsel in distress, especially if they're not."

Emmett's eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly, flickering with something that Rosalie couldn't decipher. And then he glanced down at his feet, shrugging, before gracing her with a small half-grin. "Well, it was the right thing to do. No ulterior motives, I promise."

"Well," she echoed dumbly. The tone of his voice was a little softer, no longer edged in sarcasm, and it threw her off-guard. "Thank you."

"Ah," he replied and the smile grew until it was brilliant. "Now that wasn't so hard, was it?"

Rosalie rolled her eyes. "Is that all?"

He nodded, walking backwards. "That's all. Have a _nice _night."

She let out a soft snort, unable to help her smile at the reference. "Good night."

She drove home with the radio on full-blast, singing distractedly along to an inane pop song. When she got home, Balthazar was waiting for her at the front door, tail wagging, and she let him out into the backyard. She wandered back into her room, instinctively reaching up to unwind her scarf from around her neck before she realized that it wasn't there.

"Great job, Rosalie," she muttered, shrugging out of her jacket and hanging it up in her closet with a huff.

She washed her face and changed into pajamas. She grabbed her phone and sent a text to Garrett and Kate, asking them to grab her scarf from the bar if someone hadn't already filched it, then settled on the couch with the dog and a cozy cashmere blanket.

In so many ways, tonight had gone completely differently she'd anticipated. She thought of Emmett, of the way he'd responded to her. He wasn't intimidated by her and, despite the shit she'd given him about that accidental not-even-really-a-kiss, hadn't hit on her. At all. He hadn't acted like she'd expected when she first met him, hadn't acted like any other man she'd run across lately. He'd been a total gentleman. It set him apart.

In hindsight, it also kind of pissed her off.

"Go figure that the one guy I wouldn't castrate for coming on to me would do the exact opposite," she said with a sigh, scratching Balthazar's belly. He let out a snuffle, which she took as his agreement. "Speaking of gentlemen, should we see if my new friend Mac has written back?"

He had. Rosalie's heart skipped a beat and she felt an irrational sense of excitement that he'd responded so quickly.

_Just consider me a player to be named later. I was raised to be a gentleman, even if people don't always appreciate it. And because I'm a gentleman, I'll ask you something more polite – how do you feel about William Blake? We can talk about the designated hitter later._

Just like before, a smile bloomed on her face. There was something about Mac that made her feel comfortable and willing to open up. Maybe it was because he seemed to understand her in a way that she wasn't sure anyone else did or could. She wondered, though, if it was also because he was safe, anonymous. He didn't know her- what she looked like, anything about her history. There were no snap judgments or preconceived notions to deal with. She controlled what he knew, which in a strange way made her want to share more.

Still, it was a little scary baring her soul, even if he was just a name on the screen.

"What the hell are you doing, Rose?" she muttered to herself as she hit the respond button and typed out her message.

_I've never really believed in the concept of gentlemen, but after the day I've had I'm starting to second-guess that. In fact, I'm starting to think I don't have it all figured out after all. Do you ever feel that way? _

_As for William Blake, I'm not entirely convinced that the road of excess leads to the palace of wisdom. Unless, of course, that excess comes in the form of dark chocolate. _

_Lily_

Rosalie smiled, shaking her head. "I mean William Blake," she murmured and though her heart was pounding, she didn't hesitate when she pressed send.

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**This is, as mentioned before, written entirely for the lovely lookingforhoofprints. She bought us and she owns us for the duration of this story. :) **

**LightStarDusting betas this bad boy and keeps us in line. Many, many thanks to her. **

**For those that haven't seen Bull Durham or need a refresher…we give you William Blake. **

http:/www [dot] youtube [dot] com/watch?v=SFHIUmqMwJU

**Need more Em? Check out 30 Days of Emmett, 2 one shots or drabbles a day, running through 12/20. Link is in both of our favorite authors.**

**See you next week!**


	3. Great Assets and a Load of Bull

**Monday….Thursday…We're mixing it up a bit.**

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**Chapter 3 – Great Assets and a Load of Bull**

Emmett walked slowly back across the bar, his head filled with all the smart lines and clever retorts that would have come easily in just about any other conversation. Garrett's roommate, the one with the cake fetish and the ability to keep her friend in place was a complete…ass.

A very tall, very beautiful, very _smart_ ass. And that was saying nothing about the backside he'd watched walk away not once, but two times.

"Get your head out of the gutter, dude," Emmett said, rubbing the heel of his palm hard against his forehead. He'd meant to call her a bitch. He wanted to think Rosalie Hale was a complete ass, even if that wasn't the case.

But that name fit, and it called to mind her physical manifestation of the _asset_ as well, and God did she have an amazing one, along with a pair of legs that went all the way up to said asset. She'd given him a bird's eye view, taking long, determined strides in sky high heels that rocked her hips from side to side, smooth and graceful and _damned_ if she wasn't infuriating. Emmett wasn't used to being shot down, let alone challenged, but she'd given as good as he handed out, happy to play along in their little game of tit for tat. For a moment, when he'd called her sweetheart, Emmett could have sworn she was going to do something violent and humiliating to him involving underwear being pulled up over the back of his head.

But instead she'd bolted, and it left him….confused.

He wanted to put Rosalie in a box, to classify her as a bitch or a harpy or any other of a hundred different, less than flattering labels. Each time he tried, there was something there to counterbalance the inherent shunned guy reaction.

Like the easy give and take she had with Garrett, or the proprietary, almost maternal way Rosalie smiled as she watched Kate smooth a crease out of her boyfriend's jacket.

She _played_ the bitch to perfection, but that was it: played was the key word. Anyone who watched close enough would see it was all an act. Rosalie didn't want anyone getting close, and with the way she looked, Emmett honestly couldn't blame her for expecting the worst of him or any other man. Right or wrong, her reaction was purely Pavlovian.

Screw Helen of Troy – that was only the surface, even though it was the root of her problem. Rosalie Hale was a hell of a lot more than just a pretty face, and damned if that didn't intrigue the hell out of him.

"I see you lived to tell about it," Kate said from her perch at the bar. Garrett had wandered off somewhere, ever the social butterfly, leaving his girlfriend behind to assess the damage and provide comfort while Emmett licked his wounds. She perched on the edge of her barstool, one elbow bent to support her head and a small smile that betrayed her amusement. "I think Rose liked you, if that makes you feel any better."

"If that's like, I really don't want to know what hate looks like…"

"Trust me - you'd be on your knees, begging her to stop." She turned slightly, angling her head to catch Garrett's attention. Her features softened, and something akin to peace or contentment relaxed the corners of her mouth. There was so much communicated in that one look that Emmett had to turn away, not wanting to trespass on their moment. It didn't stop Kate though. "You put Garrett in an interesting spot tonight. He tends to coddle Rosalie, but he wasn't about to show you the chink in his armor. You two may be more than he's bargained for."

"Yeah, well, coddling isn't always a good thing," Emmett said. He'd watched firsthand how that sort of overprotective dabbling had disabled his sisters, robbing both Alice and Esme of their ability to see the world realistically. Emmett had been a prime contributor to that, sheltering them both through the worst of their parent's blowups. At the time, he'd believed he was doing the right thing, but in hindsight, Emmett realized he'd created a terrible example for his sisters, an unattainable representation of a man who would end up controlling them while claiming to protect them.

Kate drained her glass, the ice tinkling against the rim. When she finished the drink, she placed the glass on the bar and leaned closer into Emmett, her voice low. He could smell cranberry juice on her breath. "Then, I would say don't coddle her. Rosalie put up a fight, but I think she liked the push back. You may have even flustered her. I don't think I've _ever_ seen that happen before."

"Flustered or disgusted?" Emmett amended. "Either way, it's kind of late for that advice now. She's gone, and I doubt there'll be a rematch."

"Funny, Emmett, I thought you were into sports," Kate said. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, her eyes narrowing in thought. "If someone hits your fast ball, do you throw the same pitch next time? No, you change it up."

"And how the hell am I supposed to do that?" Emmett leaned back against the bar, his elbows supporting his weight. "Think if I lay down in front of a truck she'll rush in and save me?"

Kate opened her mouth, but a high-pitched wolf whistle ripped across the bar, followed by a very Brando-esque shout of "Kaattiiieeee!" terminated any chance for conversation.

Garrett waved in her direction, his arm sweeping in a wide arc, beckoning Kate to his side.

She sighed and slipped down off the barstool, pausing long enough to smooth wrinkles out of her dark skirt. "It's never too late to start working on that second impression, you know. Especially when she's dropped the reason right at your feet. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to go rescue drunk boy before he strips down to his wife beater and boxers and starts singing Rugby songs."

Envy and something more visceral, which felt an awful lot like emptiness, filled Emmett as he watched Kate walk away. Garrett held his arms out to her, and she walked straight into his embrace, her head tipping to the side as he kissed the base of her neck and whispered something which made her laugh. Emmett knew he could stay here, hanging around Kate and Garrett like a very lame third wheel, and they wouldn't send him on his way. There were also a number of single women here, many who would be more than happy to help him pass the time, but for once, Emmett's heart just wasn't in it. Somehow, he doubted any woman would dish it back like he'd just received, and after that fire, anything else would just fall…

A strawberry blonde woman walked by, wobbling on a pair of high heels. Bringing her eye level to his sternum. She was short.

He didn't want short.

"Fucking long legs that go all the way up to her ass," Emmett sighed. Taking a final sip of his drink, he pushed the glass across the bar and waved to Garrett and Kate. He wasn't in the mood to stick around and explain why he didn't want to stay.

"Excuse me, sir!"

There was a tug at Emmett's sleeve. He turned to find a waitress, small and cute, her brown hair pulled back in braids, staring up at him impatiently.

"You dropped this," she said, handing him a long, crimson length of wool. "It looked expensive, and I know I wouldn't want to lose it."

"Thanks," Emmett mumbled, accepting Rosalie Hale's scarf from the waitress. "Thanks a lot."

Instead of passing the scarf off to Garrett, he draped it around his neck. There it was again, that same gentle scent of lemon-verbena. The scent was almost there, but not quite right. That's when Emmett realized what was missing.

It gave him an idea, one that would have done Nan proud.

"Nice isn't always bad," he said, and let himself out into the cool Seattle night.

**-0-0-0-**

Emmett's keys clattered on the kitchen counter, the metallic sound echoing through the sparsely furnished condo. It was a great space, just a few blocks from Pike's Market and smack dab in between _The Times_ and Safeco field. He'd always intended to buy more furniture, but there had never really been a rush to fill in the empty spaces. A couch, a bed, a table, a place to prop his feet up and to hold the mammoth television, those were the important things and they had all been acquired early on. The other things, well, they could wait.

It wasn't like he did a lot of entertaining here anyway.

The jacket followed his keys, then his shoes, the clothing slowly peeling away. When Emmett got to the red scarf, he pulled it free, folding the soft fabric end over end to create a neat little package. Tomorrow, he would return it to its owner, and show Rosalie Hale there was nothing wrong with being nice.

"The question is where the hell do I get some decent cookies in the next twelve hours?"

His question bounced off the empty walls, a low, deep rumble with no answer.

"Google it is," Emmett said. Quiet had a way of working under his skin, so he always filled the silence with something. Music, the TV, his voice – most often singing along to some bad nineties grunge (very badly) or talking to himself. When he was little, he'd even read out loud, the stories covering the silence in the house or the words of anger flying back and forth downstairs.

Kate was right, if the fast ball wasn't working, then it was time to switch up, maybe throw a slider or a curveball, something different. He just needed to decide what.

By ten thirty, he found exactly what he was looking for.

It would be easy. There was a home game tomorrow, which meant he needed to be at the field by four thirty at the latest. The bakery was on his way, and Garrett had spent _way_ too much time waxing poetic about his amazing roommate, including where she worked. Everything neatly contained in a six block radius. Easy peasy.

He was about to close his laptop when a small white rectangle popped up out of his system tray, the bold dark font identifying an inbound email from a name he didn't recognize. With a double click, Emmett pulled up his email, and there it was.

_I've never really believed in the concept of gentlemen, but after the day I've had I'm starting to second-guess that. In fact, I'm starting to think I don't have it all figured out after all. Do you ever feel that way? _

_As for William Blake, I'm not entirely convinced that the road of excess leads to the palace of wisdom. Unless, of course, that excess comes in the form of dark chocolate. _

_Lily_

"Gentlemen get a bad rap," he said, one finger tapping against the keyboard. "No, Lily, I don't ever feel like I have it figured out, but I sure put up a good front."

His reply was slow to take form, and Emmett had to pause here and there to think of the best way to articulate what he really wanted to say. After a few tries, he finally managed to craft an intelligent response.

_I was raised believing you treat people with respect – the whole treat them like you want to be treated thing. Maybe that's why it always blows me away when people act so shitty to others. Is it that hard to stop and do something nice just because you can, or maybe because it's the decent thing? And are there that many people who take advantage of a situation? I just don't get it, you know? Maybe I'm naïve, but I can't stop trying to be a decent person, even if the response does suck sometimes. Heck, I got smacked down today. I'll get back on the horse tomorrow. Maybe I'll get smacked down again. Doesn't mean I'll stop trying, I'm just trying it a different way._

_And now it's almost 11 on a Thursday night and I don't have any chocolate in my place. Know anywhere that delivers?_

_Have a nice night,_

_Mac_

Hitting the send button, Emmett closed his laptop and turned off the lights. Tomorrow would be a new day, and he needed some sleep.

**-0-0-0-**

The press box was quiet for a Friday night. Most of the other reporters were off, squeezing in interviews or grabbing a bite before the game began.

But not Emmett.

Much like the baseball players he covered, he had his own pre-game ritual. Get his spot, set up his laptop, and then take advantage of what little quiet time there was to return a quick call or two. He'd received another barrage of calls from his sisters this morning, and he should call them back, but he'd finally managed to shake the foul mood that had colored his day. Walking up First Avenue with a black and white patterned bag, Rosalie Hale's red scarf tied around the handle like a bow had helped with that.

"Can you see that Rosalie Hale gets this?" he'd asked the woman in reception, turning on a bright smile. She'd glanced up at him skeptically, her gaze shifting to the bag like he was a sweaty bike messenger, scrounging for a tip.

"Your name?" she prompted, not cracking a smile.

"There's a note inside for her." He'd smiled, trying to temper the receptionist's attitude. _Maybe the chip on the shoulder's a financial thing,_ he thought.

She puckered her lips and gingerly accepted the bag, one pinky extended like she was afraid of what might rub off on her. "Ms. Hale is in a meeting right now, I'll see that she gets it."

Emmett wished he could have hung around, finding some surreptitious spot to hide out and wait to see how Rosalie took the return of her scarf. But then again, maybe not. Part of the fun, his nan used to say, was not knowing.

So he'd headed to the ballpark and gone about his day, just like any other, even though it wasn't.

After placing calls to Esme and Alice (at the places he knew they wouldn't be), Emmett pulled a similar small black and white bag out of his bag. The plate-size chocolate chip cookie was identical to the half dozen left for Rosalie earlier in the day, the chocolate chunks the size of pennies.

"Excess William Blake would be proud of," Emmett said, breaking a chunk of cookie free.

For the next hour, he focused on game notes, prepping the shell for his article and making sure he was up to speed on all the other major league scores. He wedged a small Bluetooth headset into his left ear, which allowed him to keep his hands free for notes or food as he fielded calls. Early in the season, Garrett had come to a game with him, and commented that Emmett looked more like a banker than a sports writer with his tiny technical set up.

A computerized series of notes erupted in his ear, a strange, hollow song that always grated on Emmett's nerves, yet he never could figure out how to change.

He glanced down.

Unlisted number. Emmett jabbed the talk button on his blackberry and went back to typing.

"McCarty," he said, his eyes darting between the field and his screen. The players were starting to filter out onto the field for batting practice, and fans hovered along the third base wall, sharpies and cards held at the ready as they shouted after their favorites.

"Who's full of bull, you or me?" A woman demanded. It pulled him up short, and Emmett was poised and ready with a quick retort, but then he remembered that the cookies, the note, it had all been orchestrated so that she _would_ call.

"Hello, Ms. Hale. I take it you got your scarf back."

"Yes I did," she said quickly. "Along with half a dozen cookies from Cow Chips the size of my head. Were you trying to make a point by buying the ones called Bull Chips?"

Emmett fought to suppress a smile. He'd tripped across Bull Chips last night in his search for the perfect sugar cookies. The minute he saw the assortment name he knew he'd found a winner.

"Well, you did have an issue with people's motives, so I thought cookies that used the slang term for a lie were more than appropriate, wouldn't you say?" He darted another glance down at the field, his fingers hovering over the keyboard. A few of the Rangers were jogging slowly back and forth, swinging their arms and stretching muscles. They'd be playing their scrubs tonight, no point in wearing out their starters when they had the division locked up.

"And so you thought you'd put words in my mouth, is that it?" Rosalie asked. Without any visual cues, it was impossible to discern what she actually thought of his gift, although Emmett had to admit the cookie had been pretty damn good. "The note was a nice touch. My scarf, does in fact, smell like cookies now."

"Lemon Verbena and Cookies mixed together is the _nicest_ smell in the world," he said. It was the truth.

"Yes, I can read, thank you very much."

"Wow, was that a voluntary thank you or a sarcastic one?" Emmett started to type again, and noticed there was a smudge of chocolate on the back of a knuckle. He was about to grab a napkin and wipe it away when he thought of Lily's comment about dark chocolate. Instead of using the napkin, he sucked on his knuckle. The chocolate mixed with the salty taste of his skin a perfect complement to the rich reminder of childhood.

"I'm not sure yet," Rosalie said with a laugh. "Although I have to give you points for creativity. Cookies are better than flowers anyway."

"Well, if I was going for originality, I would've bought the gingerbread men instead."

"So I can bite your head off," Rosalie interrupted, her laughter coming louder and easier. He envisioned her, sitting in an office high above the city, her desk chair swiveled so she could look out onto the sound. "I've heard that one before."

"Well, I'm not that well-versed in the man-eater jokes department. We can move to blonde, I've got a whole-"

An audible groan on the other end of the phone was the final crack in the proverbial ice, which shattered under Emmett's verbal assault. He'd finally found a way in.

"I'll take that as a yes. How do you keep a blonde busy?"

A few spots down from Emmett, one of the other reports snorted his approval.

"Write 'please turn over' on both sides of a piece of paper," Rosalie answered quickly, launching into her own before Emmett could start again. "Why are blonde jokes so short?"

Emmett didn't answer, waiting for her to deliver the punch line.

"So brunettes can remember them."

There was a beat of silence, and then they both broke into giggles, Emmett's smothered behind his hand. Other reporters were starting to trickle in, and he was suddenly very aware of just how out in the open he was.

"So…the game's going to be starting soon, and I really should get going," he said, wishing there was some way to draw this out. This was one of the disadvantages to his job, the screwy hours and the commitments whenever everyone else was free. It was the first time in his life that Emmett didn't want to be at a Mariner's game. He wanted to be able to talk on the phone and make this woman laugh and maybe even get her to admit that nice was really not a bad thing after all.

"Listen," he said, grasping at straws, "It's a home stand this weekend, which means my nights suck, but I'm not completely out of commission. If you haven't inhaled all those decadent cookies I brought you, I can deliver a giant glass of milk to go with them." Rosalie chuckled, but the sound was significantly more reserved. "Or how about something caffeinated? I can buy you a cup of coffee. There might be a few places around here to get one."

"Maybe a few," she agreed her voice softer. "Why don't I call you tomorrow, when you aren't busy?"

He was about to tell Rosalie he wasn't busy now, anything to draw out the conversation for just a little bit longer, but life had other plans. The director of PR for the Mariners chose that moment to walk by, clapping Emmett on the shoulder and asking if they were still on for lunch next week. Emmett pointed at the earpiece, but it was too late.

"I'll call you tomorrow," Rosalie said quickly. "And thank you. The cookies, well….the cookies were _nice_."

She disconnected without saying goodbye.

Emmett pushed the end button on his phone, even though the call had already been disconnected. When he looked up, there was a small crowd standing out on the pitcher's mound, the players huddled around a coach with their hands stuffed in nylon warm up jackets.

He pulled up his Gmail account to find the last PM from Lily, and then did a quick search of YouTube, finding the video clip he was looking for.

_Lily –_

_Hoping your eyelids aren't jammed anymore. _

_Sometimes, things really are as simple as they look. It's easy to search for the motives, but you'll miss the good intentions. Hope you are having a better day. I think I am._

_Mac_

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**Lily will explain jammed eyelids (and share the YouTube link) next chapter.**

**We love Lightstardust – she and fngrcufs are writing a fabulous Emmett and Rosalie story called Something Blue, which skewers every Romantic Comedy Ever. You should give it a run!**


	4. It's a Slippery Slope

**Happy Thursday! Here we go again…**

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**Chapter 4 – It's a Slippery Slope**

It was Saturday morning and Rosalie was seated at the kitchen table, one leg tucked underneath her. Sunlight filtered in through the window over the sink, bathing the kitchen in a warm glow that touched every corner of the room. Though it was cold outside, she'd left the French doors that led out to the backyard open so that Balthazar could do his business. She could hear him out there, kicking up leaves that had fallen from the trees, his loud snuffling noises echoing in the quiet of the morning.

She always got up early on the weekend, whether she wanted to or not. This was the only time she didn't mind silence. It was still quiet in the house, the morning sun rising over the horizon and spreading itself over the city while everyone else slept. Her mind was usually too fuzzy to think about anything beyond preparing her oatmeal and cutting up a bowl of fruit while coffee brewed. It was the same breakfast she had every morning, her own little routine to get her warmed up for the day ahead. Normally she'd sneak a piece of dark chocolate too, a small sliver from whatever was lying around. She, Garrett and Kate all had a weakness for sweets, so there was invariably a bar hanging around somewhere.

But on this particular morning, she had a different kind of chocolate sitting next to her bowl.

"Bull chips," she muttered to herself, shaking her head as she brought a spoonful of oatmeal to her mouth. She eyed the small chunk of cookie sitting on a napkin next to her, trying to ignore the smile that crept onto her lips thinking about the package she'd gotten yesterday.

It was as futile now as it had been when she'd picked it up from the front desk.

Gianna had, of course, looked at Rosalie like she'd sprouted two heads when she handed her the gift bag. She'd always been courteous at work, but professional, reserved. She'd certainly never gone out of her way to socialize with anyone. But it was like Gianna thought Rosalie incapable of smiling or something by the way she stared at her as she unwound the scarf she'd thought was lost forever to the God of Finders, Keepers.

Rosalie had seen the card sitting on top of what smelled like sinfully delicious cookies, her name scrawled out in masculine block-lettered print and knew immediately, somehow instinctively, who the gift was from. She'd decided to put off opening it until she got to her office lest Gianna die of heart failure at seeing her reaction to what was written inside.

She'd walked swiftly to her office, covering the last twenty feet in a speed-walk that was practically a run. She'd ripped open the envelope, tossing it carelessly on the floor, not even bothering to pretend that she wasn't dying of curiosity over what could have possessed Emmett to send this. After their interaction at the bar, she'd expected him to tell Garrett "thanks, but no fucking thanks" and taken off in the other direction toward the safer, friendlier cheerleader types. And yet here he was, sending her chocolate chip cookies the size of her head called _Bull Chips_, appropriately enough. She'd been pissed off for a split second before the smile returned, wry this time. It had been a long time since anyone besides Garrett and Kate had called her out like that, though she could tell that Emmett's jab was good-natured. That seemed to be his default internal setting.

If good-natured was his default setting, Rosalie's was suspicion. She didn't get Emmett or why he would do something without provocation and especially after she'd been such a bitch to him. Either he _was _that nice or he was a glutton for punishment. She was curious to find out which it was.

That spark of curiosity – and, she was willing to admit to herself, good old-fashioned attraction – silently urged her to dial Emmett's number, which she'd furtively gotten from Garrett's BlackBerry after he and Kate had gotten home from the bar Thursday night.

_Just in case_, she'd told herself. God knew if she asked Garrett for it at any point, he'd find thirty different ways to say, "I told you so."

Well, this had been her just in case.

She'd picked up the phone before she could chicken out, her eyes focused on the ceiling while she chewed on her lip. Her heart had skipped a beat when he picked up, his voice moving through her, rich and deep and a little rough. It had been so long since she'd had this kind of reaction to a man. It completely freaked her out, made her go on the offensive to protect herself, but then Emmett had started spewing absolutely atrocious blonde jokes that she'd heard…god, dozens of times. Somehow he made it different, made _this _different, and that scared her more.

After she'd hurried off the phone with him, telling him she'd call him the following day just so she could get off the phone before she made an idiot out of herself, Rosalie had pulled up the message Mac had sent her the night before. She'd re-read his words, turning them over in her mind. Was it possible for someone to be decent like it seemed Emmett was, she wondered, to do something because it was right or nice? She wasn't used to that from anyone outside of her very close, very small circle of friends and family and she didn't know why Emmett would bother.

She wanted to know why he would and had bothered, though. She was starting to think that maybe she wanted to know _him_.

It was a vicious cycle; anticipation ebbed into excitement, which then morphed into fear. At this point, she didn't know which way was up, what she should or shouldn't do. However, she did have an inkling of what she _wanted _to do.

Rosalie's eyes flicked down to her phone on the other side of her bowl, its screen dark. Her heart fluttered just looking at it, thinking about the call she promised she'd make today. Once again she found herself at a loss for what to expect from Emmett and this…whatever it was.

"Phones usually work better if you actually dial a number and hit send," a soft, sleepy voice said behind her. Rosalie looked over her shoulder as Kate shuffled into the kitchen, closing the door behind Balthazar when he came trotting inside. He shook off the morning air before situating himself at Rosalie's feet. She ran her foot along his cooled hair absently, stabbing at a slice of banana.

"Please don't tell me Garrett's sarcasm has rubbed off on you," she replied, waving her fork at Kate before popping the fruit in her mouth.

"Dear god, I hope not," Kate laughed, pulling a coffee mug from the cabinet. She was wearing Garrett's pajama pants, flannel ones with sheep on them. He'd had them since high school and while they were too small for him now, they were absolutely swimming on her. They looked right, though, like they fit.

Rosalie used to wear Edward's clothes – his pajama pants, sweatshirts, it didn't really matter. There was just something inherently comfortable about it, full of familiarity. She'd be surrounded by him whether he was there or not, the smell of his cologne still lingering. He'd always complain when he found strands of her hair, but would insist on pulling her close while he huffed and picked the long, golden hairs from the t-shirt or fleece pullover she'd pilfered.

She didn't miss Edward anymore, not when they'd had so much time to say goodbye to each other before he actually left, but she missed the intimacy of being close to someone in those ways. Garrett and Kate reminded her on a daily basis that she didn't have that, that somewhere deep down inside of her she missed it, craved it.

She thought again of Mac's message. _I got smacked down today_, he'd written._ I'll get back on the horse tomorrow._

This was the first time she'd even thought of getting back on the proverbial horse, but that in and of itself had to be progress, didn't it? She'd been smacked down in the worst possible way – they don't call it heartbreak for nothing – had dealt with lame guy after douchey guy after completely lame, douchey guy. But she was starting to wonder if it was just that she was looking in the wrong places, at the wrong people, if she'd only seen the bad.

She desperately wanted to find the good, even if it also came with the scary and the uncertain. She didn't want to be stuck forever in this cycle of running away because she didn't want to get hurt. The truth was that she was hurting anyway.

Kate sat down across from Rosalie, sipping from her mug. "Mm," she hummed in appreciation. "Nice and strong."

"Do you expect anything less from me?" Rosalie replied.

Balthazar sat up, his nails clicking on the linoleum, and placed his chin on the table top, sniffing at her cookie. She pushed at his snout, then huffed and fed him a slice of banana when he stared at her balefully.

"Good point." Kate arched an eyebrow at Rosalie. "Speaking of strong…"

"Jesus, you and Gar even start your conversational segues the same way."

Kate grimaced playfully, though her eyes were sparkling. "Is that a sign that we spend too much time together?"

"More like you're perfect for each other," Rosalie corrected, pretending to dry heave. Kate laughed, nudging her under the table with her foot, and Rosalie reached across the table to squeeze her arm quickly. "I really mean it, Kate. He's never been this happy. It would be annoying if I didn't like you so much."

"He makes me happy too." A blush spread across Kate's cheeks and she took a sip of coffee. Rosalie could see her lips curling over the top, how her eyes went hazy for a moment. "Anyway, enough about me and Garrett. Back to the topic at hand."

"What, my amazing coffee-making skills?"

"No." Kate gave her a pointed look that Rosalie pretended to miss, so involved was she in getting the perfect amount of oatmeal on her spoon.

The kitchen was silent save for the scrape of Rosalie's spoon against her bowl and when she finally made eye contact with Kate, she was blinking at her, her chin resting on the heel of her hand. "What?"

"You don't want to talk about Thursday night?"

"What was Thursday night?" Rosalie took a bite of oatmeal, feigning confusion as she chewed slowly, before letting her eyes go wide. Kate rolled hers with a grin. "Oh, _Thursday night._ You mean when I was a total bitch to Emmett?"

"You were…" Kate trailed off.

"A bitch."

"No, just -"

"An asshole?"

Kate quirked an eyebrow. "I've seen you worse."

Rosalie shrugged in agreement, feeding Balthazar another slice of banana so she'd have someone besides Kate to look at. She could feel her gaze, though, steady, waiting. "Well, apparently he's some kind of masochist. He got in touch with me yesterday."

"Oh?"

Rosalie's head snapped up at the knowing trill in Kate's voice, but she continued. "He must have found my scarf at the bar, because he had it sent to me." She gestured down to the cookie. "And sent me half a dozen cookies along with it."

"_Oh_," Kate replied with a smile. She tried to hide it behind her coffee mug, but Rosalie caught it. She felt her own mouth pull up and she shook her head.

"And – are you ready for this? - they're called Bull Chips."

Kate nearly choked on her coffee at that and Rosalie bit her lip, trying not to laugh. In hindsight, it was pretty hilarious, if not a little bit insane. "Oh, my god, that's brilliant."

Rosalie let out a snort. "Or suicidal. I'm not sure which yet. He also threw out a few blonde jokes when we talked on the phone."

Kate looked at her for a long moment. "Do you like him?"

"I don't know him," Rosalie hedged, her heart picking up pace at the thought that maybe she _could_ someday.

"Do you want to?"

Rosalie knew the answer to that, but she wasn't ready to admit it to anyone, not quite ready to say it out loud. So instead she shrugged, picking at the cookie before popping a chocolate chip in her mouth. "He mentioned something about grabbing a cup of coffee together. That seems pretty harmless, right?"

"Right." Kate nodded with a patient, amused smile.

"Listen, don't say anything to Garrett yet, okay? He's either going to get all big brother protective and try to give me the birds and bees talk again -"

"Oh, god," Kate interrupted, laughing.

"_Nightmare_," Rosalie replied. Garrett had sat her down before their junior prom and started in on the speech, all big blue, solemn eyes and grave voice. She could still picture him sitting on a bar stool in her kitchen wearing a ridiculous bow tie and, inexplicably, socks with lobsters on them. When he uttered the word "penetration," complete with hand gestures, she'd smacked his hand and the side of his head and then pushed him off the stool. Luckily, the crotch shot he'd taken from the stool next to his prevented him from falling over completely. He'd limped around with his date for the rest of the night, alternating between glaring at her and mouthing "penetration." "Anyway, it's either that or he'll be overly excited and smug. It's too early in the morning to deal with either scenario."

_And too early in this thing with Emmett_, she thought to herself. If something went wrong or things didn't work out, she didn't want Garrett to have to deal with her disappointment. He'd held her hand through worse, but she didn't want to set either of them up for that when she had no idea where this was going, if anywhere.

Kate winked. "My lips are sealed. But you've got to give up the goods to me."

"Deal."

"You're going to tell Gar at some point, though?"

Rosalie arched an eyebrow, pushing her now-empty bowl toward the center of the table. "Let's see how coffee goes first, why don't we?"

Balthazar jumped up as Garrett strolled into the kitchen, clad in boxer shorts and a white t-shirt, the newspaper stuck under his arm.

"Speak of the devil," Rosalie murmured under her breath.

Garrett gave them a wide smile. "Good morning, women of my life." He nodded down at Balthazar, smacking him heartily on the side. "And man's best friend, of course."

"Well, aren't you chipper this morning," Rosalie said, snatching the newspaper from him. He ruffled her hair and then drifted over to Kate. Rosalie busied herself with disassembling the paper while Garrett and Kate shared a lingering kiss and murmured good morning to one another.

"It's Saturday, Rosie," Garrett replied, smacking at her hand so he could filch the sports section. "A great mood is required."

Rosalie tossed the front page to Kate and grabbed the business section, flipping to the page she knew Garrett's latest column would be. His picture smiled up at her, bright and trusting, the perfect grainy blank canvas.

Rosalie had been defacing Garrett's face for as long as she could remember. Probably since the first time his picture was printed in _The Daily_ at the University of Washington. It had turned into a ritual over the years; she'd draw devil horns and thick-rimmed glasses, moles in the middle of his forehead and thought bubbles with inflammatory statements. Once she'd even turned his head into a giant dick. She always read his articles, though – in high school, college, and now that he was all grown up, his very own column. And at the bottom, she always wrote out "good job, champ." It was her own way of showing her support for the career he'd been planning since he was seven and carried around a tattered notepad with a pen stuck in the spiral binding. She was demonstrative in quiet ways, sometimes sarcastic or silly ones, but she knew Garrett understood that she was proud of him.

A rolled up section of newspaper fell onto the table and Rosalie jumped slightly, glancing at it before looking up at Garrett in confusion. "What is this?"

"Emmett's column," he replied, pointing at it. "Why don't you deface _his_ face for a change?"

Rosalie looked down at Emmett's picture, her heart skipping a beat. Jesus, he was good-looking. She silently wondered how many women had this picture as a prominent fixture in their mental reel. She tossed Garrett's column to Kate with a smile. "Do you want to do Garrett?"

"She already does," Garrett quipped.

"So I've heard," Rosalie shot back dryly.

Kate's cheeks colored and she shot a look at Garrett, who grimaced with a laugh. "Awkward."

"The joy of roommates," Rosalie shrugged. She snapped her fingers at Garrett. "Give us pens."

"Yes, ma'am," he replied with a salute, backing toward the counter. He pulled open the junk drawer, fished out two pens, and tossed them onto the table before turning back to the counter. "Oh, _hell_ yes, coffee. The best part of waking up is overpriced organic coffee in your – hey, cookies!"

"Don't you dare," Rosalie said, whirling in her chair. She'd stupidly left the box on the counter when she came home last night, too exhausted and distracted to remember that Garrett would Hoover up anything that was halfway edible and not nailed down.

"Too late, I'm sure," she heard Kate murmur. Sure enough, when Garrett turned around his cheeks were puffed out, stuffed with cookie like a ridiculous man-chipmunk.

"Would it have made a difference if I put my name on them?" Rosalie asked. She could feel her nostrils flaring with annoyance.

"Doubtful." Cookie pieces flew out of his mouth and Rosalie's lip curled up.

"Seriously, Adams, were you raised by wolves?"

"Goddamn, where'd these come from?" he asked, ignoring her. He studied the box, turning it around while he jammed more of the cookie in his mouth. "They're fucking amazing."

"They're fucking _mine_, so hands off."

"Maybe you should try having a big boy breakfast, Gar," Kate spoke up, throwing Rosalie a conspiratorial smile when he wasn't looking. "We're going hiking in a bit and I don't want to have to listen to you whine about how barfy you're feeling."

Garrett made a scoffing noise and looked appraisingly down at Balthazar sitting at his feet. His tail made a syncopated _thump, thump, thump _against the floor as he stared at the cookie in Garrett's hand. "Why don't you have my back here? Bro code, man." Balthazar whined and pawed at his socked foot and Garrett grumbled under his breath, breaking off a small piece and feeding it to him.

"Garrett!" Rosalie exclaimed incredulously.

"Relax, I didn't give him the chocolate part. Do you think I'm an idiot?" Rosalie barely got her mouth open before Garrett held up his hand. "Don't answer that. Why don't you concentrate on your vandalism and get off my back?"

Rosalie rolled her eyes, but focused her attention back on the newspaper. Her fingers smoothed out a wrinkle next to Emmett's head, the ink of the picture's border smudging slightly under the pressure, and she let his words settle under her gaze.

And suddenly she wasn't in her kitchen in Seattle, bundled up in flannel pants and a bulky sweatshirt. She was in a backyard in Tennessee, watching a little boy run around while a baseball game echoed into the late summer air. She could almost feel the warm breeze on her skin, could feel the sun shining down on her. The reflection of it against a watch's face danced on the pavement.

When Rosalie finished reading, she sat still for a moment, looking at Emmett's picture with her pen clutched in her hand. Kate and Garrett were talking and laughing, but their voices were far away. Or maybe she was. Finally, she placed the ballpoint against paper, pressing lightly. She drew a monocle and a handlebar mustache, the ends curling up above the dimples framing Emmett's smiling mouth. Next to his picture she drew tufts of grass, a passable excuse for a tall oak tree and a baseball. And then she drew a sun, its rays reaching down to the ground. She imagined that it warmed everything it touched.

**-0-0-0-**

After finishing her breakfast and threatening Garrett with violence if he touched another cookie, Rosalie took Balthazar for a long run. They were both panting by the time they got back. She showered, dried and curled her hair, drifted around her bedroom and tidied up the already immaculate space. All the while, her phone sat on the nightstand, waiting patiently for its owner to grow a pair of metaphorical balls and make the damn call already.

It was just past noon now and she was stupidly nervous about calling Emmett. It had been different yesterday; she hadn't had time to think about it, had been driven by adrenaline and curiosity. She'd also been somewhat numbed by the shock of his surprising gesture.

But now she felt everything – the way her heart beat hard in her chest, the cold rush of anticipation that coursed through her body when she thought of his voice, the other strange feelings that he was bringing to the surface, the feelings that she'd tucked into the dark corners of herself.

"I'm just going to check my email before I call him," she told Balthazar, who stared back up at her disapprovingly. She tsked, seating herself at the desk nestled underneath her window and powering on her laptop. "What, are you _judging_ me? That's not allowed. You're a dog."

Balthazar snuffled, the dog equivalent of eye rolling she guessed, and sat next to her. She caressed his velvety ear as she pulled one leg up to her chest and rested her chin on her knee. When her mailbox finally booted up, she saw an alert from the secrets blog.

Another message from Mac.

"What do we have here?" she murmured, opening the message. There was a YouTube clip in the message and she clicked on the link, laughing loudly when it started playing and she recognized what it was. "We need a live rooster to take the curse off Jose's glove," she recited along with Crash before letting out a soft snort. "Jesus, where's _my _live rooster?"

It was strange, though. She'd certainly felt cursed in the last year, maybe even longer. The end of her relationship with Edward had been the beginning of that. But now? Now she wasn't so sure.

She minimized the window, moving back to his message.

_Lily –_

_Hoping your eyelids aren't jammed anymore. _

_Sometimes, things really are as simple as they look. It's easy to search for the motives, but you'll miss the good intentions. Hope you are having a better day. I think I am._

_Mac_

"Who are you?" Rosalie wondered aloud after she finished reading, shaking her head. It was like he knew exactly what to say to make her stop and think about how she acted and more importantly, how she _re_acted. Something about his words resonated with her and she found herself responding to him with an honesty that surprised her.

Her fingers hovered over the keyboard as her gaze wandering back to a particular sentence: _It's easy to search for the motives, but you'll miss the good intentions._

She thought of Emmett and the cookies, of the scarf she was sure she'd lost that now smelled like baked goods and a little bit like the cologne she guessed he wore. She'd been trying to figure out his motive and had come up empty-handed. Maybe it_ was_ simple. She'd used "nice" against Emmett like it was a bad thing, but she was starting to see the upside of it, especially when it was genuine.

Her mouth pulled up into a smile and she chewed on her bottom lip as she started typing.

_Mac,_

_Your comment about good intentions is so timely it's scary. How do you do that?_

_It also reminds me of the time my friend got a tattoo in college. Do you have time for a story? It's funny, I promise. _

_This friend dragged me with him, knowing I'm terrified of anything having to do with needles (I had a bad experience when I was little that allegedly involved me trying to punch my doctor in the junk when he gave me my shots. I say allegedly because I'm sure it's a gross exaggeration)._

_Anyway, he initially told me we were going out to lunch. He didn't break the news until we were outside the parlor, at which point I tried to punch him in the junk (okay, so I have a history of it) and started to take off in the other direction. But he begged and pleaded, told me he needed my moral support. So I went in, bitching the whole time, and nearly passed out as soon as I heard the buzzing._

_He told me all of these ridiculous stories while he got inked, which I barely heard because I had my ears plugged and my eyes shut, although I guess telling him to shut up every five seconds did help distract me. I had no idea what he was even getting and didn't think to find out while it was happening. After he was done, I asked and you know what he told me? He told me he got a post-it note with Yellow Cab's phone number tattooed on his ass so he wouldn't forget if he was drunk. And for some reason I believed him. Maybe it was fear or just the fact that I wouldn't have put it past him to pull something completely asinine like that. I must have gone blue in the face telling him how stupid it was. When he finally told me when he'd actually gotten (after I'd threatened to call his mom), I was pretty set on never talking to him again. I remember him yelling, "My intentions were pure!" as I stormed into my dorm. _

_Eventually he thawed me out, but for years I'd tell his girlfriends that he had a tattoo of a post-it note with "remember extra-small condoms" written on it. One of them (the one that stuck) told him to drop trou and show her, which I think is how we both knew she was a keeper._

_God, what is it about you that makes me want to tell you all of my secrets? Usually a guy has to buy me a few drinks before I'll spill anything, and that's if he's lucky. I laugh every time I watch Bull Durham and Annie says a guy will listen to anything if he thinks it's foreplay. I have too much evidence to support the statement. I get the feeling you listen because you really want to hear it, though._

_I'm sure all the girls tell you that._

_I'm hoping my day takes its cue from yours. Just between you and me, I'm pretty optimistic._

_Lily_

Rosalie sat back and looked out the window for a few minutes after her message had hurtled off across cyber space toward Mac, wherever he was. She could see patches of vibrant, saturated blue sky between the branches of the tree that grew right outside her room. Sunlight danced off the verdant leaves, their edges turning red and burnt orange.

Change was in the air.

She made her way to the bed, flopping down before picking up her phone and scrolling through her address book until she found Emmett's number. Her heart was pounding so loudly in her ears that she was afraid she wouldn't hear him when he picked up.

But of course she did. His voice flooded through her, making her sit up straight. "Hello?"

"Emmett?" She grimaced at the sheer stupidity of her response and pressed her palm against her forehead, her eyes going skyward. "Uh, it's Rosalie."

"Well, hello, Rose. You sound surprised that I answered my own phone," Emmett replied, that ever-present hint of laughter in his voice.

"Oh, we're going to start things out this way?" Rosalie shot back, trying to sound less amused than she was.

There was a soft rustle on the other end of the line and Rosalie wondered what he was doing, if he was reading the newspaper or a magazine. She wondered what he'd had for breakfast, what he'd been doing all day. "What way is that?"

"With you making fun of me."

"I wasn't making fun of you," he said. Another rustle. "I was teasing you. There's a big difference."

"It seems like a slippery slope to me," she hummed, unconvinced.

"A slippery slope?"

"What, you're going to make fun of my phrase choices too?"

"_Tease_," he clarified with a laugh.

She huffed. "Remind me why I called you again."

"You tell me," he shot back, his tone curious.

"I vaguely recall something about coffee, but I'm definitely rethinking that now," she said, playing with an errant thread on her deep purple duvet.

"You talk a tough game, Rose."

She let out a laugh, even as the sound of him saying her name sent a shiver along her spine. "So, does your offer still stand or has my 'tough game' run you off?"

"Oh, trust me, I've seen tougher," he replied.

"I'll take that as a personal challenge."

"That doesn't surprise me." Emmett laughed, a low, deep sound that she could definitely get used to hearing. "So listen, are you free this afternoon? I've got a game at 4:30, but I'll be at the Starbucks on 1st and Yesler before that, if you want to keep me company."

It was a seemingly casual offer, non-threatening, and Rosalie would've thought it off-hand if she hadn't heard a subtle hint of anticipation and hope in his voice. It matched the feeling in her chest, her stomach, the backs of her knees thinking about spending the afternoon – or at the very least a couple of hours – with him.

"I'm free," she replied casually, already up and off the bed. She walked quickly to her closet, throwing open the doors. "What time?"

"Two?"

"Sounds good." It sounded better than good, actually, but she suppressed the giddy teenager inside of her that wanted to do a ridiculous celebratory dance.

"Great, I'll see you then," Emmett replied, his tone warm, almost content. Rosalie bit her lip as she ran her hand over a soft cashmere sweater, her heart doing funny things at the knowledge that she was the one to elicit it.

It was so simple, just a cup of coffee on a Saturday afternoon. It wasn't a date. But Rosalie couldn't remember that last time she felt so…hopeful. It was almost effervescent in her blood and she let herself feel it fully for a moment before she took a deep breath and came back down to earth. She pulled herself back into a place that didn't have her hopes quite as high, because that felt dangerous, but certainly not as cynical as she'd been in the past.

She tore through her closet, regarding and dismissing outfit after outfit until she was up to her knees in a pile of clothes in her closet. She was glad that Garrett and Kate were out of the house on their romantic hike in god knew where. If they could see her now, they'd be concerned. Or laughing. Possibly both.

"Pick a sweater, Rosalie. Christ, it's coffee, not your wedding day," she muttered, yanking a pale pink one off its hanger and pulling it over her head impatiently. She bent to grab her signature sky-high heels and then paused, her hand hovering over a pair of ballet flats. She usually wore them on the weekend, giving her feet much-needed rest from the stilettos she donned for work and other social obligations. She doubted he'd take much notice, but the flats felt truer to her somehow. She slipped them on, a small smile quirking her lips.

By the time she got to Pioneer Square, she was late and flustered and dealing with a heart that no longer knew what a steady beat was. It was pounding against her ribs as she hurried down the street from the parking garage to Starbucks.

"It's just coffee," she repeated to herself like a mantra as she opened the door. It did nothing to soothe her nerves, though.

And neither did seeing Emmett. What little hold she had left on any sense of calm went out the door she was gripping.

He was tucked into a corner, sitting at a table with his laptop open in front of him, his eyes riveted to the screen as his fingers flew over the keyboard. Her gaze swept over him, taking in everything – the khakis, polo shirt and blazer he wore, the way his hair curled over his ears and forehead, the subtle upturn of his mouth.

He must have felt her eyes on him, because he looked up. He smiled and it was gorgeous, boyish and a little playful, and Rosalie couldn't have stopped her grin if she wanted to.

Her mind might have remembered that this was just coffee, but as soon as Emmett looked at her that way – expectant, anticipating, _happy _– her heart completely forgot.

* * *

**LightStarDusting is our fabulous beta. Lookingforhoofprints is our benefactor. ;) We love them both, and all of you who are reading, reviewing, alerting and favoriting. Bull Chip cookies for all! **

**And for your viewing pleasure, here's the clip that Mac sent Lily: http:/www(dot)youtube(dot)com/watch?v=8olTfKZnFiM&feature=related**

**See you next week. :) **


	5. Stick a Fork in Him, He's Done

**Happy holidays to everyone – hope you have a wonderful weekend, safe and warm and happy.**

**

* * *

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**Chapter 5 – Stick a Fork in Him, He's Done**

Saturdays in September and October are the convergence of sports nirvana for Emmett - days filled with football, baseball, a tease of hockey and endless talking head commentary on playoffs and fantasy rotations. He'd wake up, take his bike out for an hour of sprints up and down hills, then come back and ice his knee while perusing sites like ESPN and cbssportsline. ESPNU would be on in the background, the commentary turned up just high enough for him to pick up on the big plays.

This was his heaven. Well, almost. Heaven would have been if Vanderbilt actually decided to put up a football team (Emmett loved his alma matter, but he'd accepted their basement dweller status). He still watched faithfully though, accepting any little nugget of info the cable gods would offer up via the text scroll across the bottom of the screen. He was nothing if not devoted.

If the Mariners were at home, he'd languish on the couch until around two, when his own stench would drive him to the shower. Once presentable, he'd head to a Starbucks near the stadium. Afternoon snack and coffee in hand, he'd prep his notes and go over the other team news and scores before heading to the park. For most people, Saturday was for socialization and interaction, a chance to catch up on the life that happened during the week. For Emmett, it was a solitary sort of day, one that enforced just how isolated he had become. Outside of a few phone calls, he'd be completely alone, the only conversation a one-way dialogue with the television as he argued calls or complained about botched plays.

Maybe that's why he was so willing to change things up, to put aside the usual and invite Rosalie Hale into his pregame ritual. The quiet of his condo, something he'd appreciated for so long, no longer provided the peace Emmett had once craved. It was a monochromic cage: four stylish, over-priced walls that housed his belongings and kept him dry, but did little to make him laugh or bring real comfort. That came from _people_, not belongings.

So, for the first time in as long as he could remember, Emmett skipped his Saturday afternoon football ritual. He showered, threw his laptop and wallet in his messenger bag, and grabbed his sunglasses off of the table. It was still early, but sitting around surfing the web to kill time was not going to cut it today, especially not when Rosalie Hale would be gracing his Starbucks in the not too distant future.

Outside, pedestrian traffic was light for a Saturday afternoon. Emmett pulled his coat collar up, blocking the wind and wishing he'd thrown on something a little bit warmer. It was abnormally cool for late September, the clear blue skies and crisp temperatures reminding him of fall in Gatlinburg, the air tinged with the pungent aroma of burning leaves.

It never failed to make him think of his sisters.

On autopilot, Emmett pulled his phone out of his jacket pocket and hit speed dial, bracing the small black plastic contraption between his head and shoulder as he hiked his bag up into place.

Esme picked up on the second ring.

"Are they burning leaves there yet?" he asked by way of greeting.

"Em, I don't live in the sticks," Esme said. They'd had this conversation hundreds of times, Emmett perfectly content to tease his sister about the off the beaten path hamlet she called home. "Ashland is a perfectly respectable town."

"In the sticks," he amended.

"It's quaint."

"It's the sticks…and it's Wisconsin, Es. It's fucking _cold_. Anyway, I'm not calling to chat about your Mayberry 'burb, charming as it may be." He paused, waiting for a truck to pass, knowing the noise would drown him out. "Do you remember when we were in high school and Alice used to burn leaves in that old metal barrel to cover up the smell of her joints?"

"Em, they were my joints," Esme corrected him. "And yes, I remember. I also happen to recall you sneaking across the alley to stash your empty beer cans in the neighbor's recycling bin."

Emmett stopped at the corner of First and Yesler, his cheeks raw from the cold. When he was little, his cheeks were always red, with a little white circle just above the dimple on his left cheek. They'd been his _tell_, flaming brilliant crimson whenever he was embarrassed or nervous. Even today, if flustered enough, he still turned a thousand shades of scarlet, which prevented him from ever successfully pulling one over on anyone.

"Listen, Es, I'm sorry I blew you guys off the other day," he said sheepishly. "You'd think after all these years I'd be better suited to deal with Mom and Dad's drama."

"Or mine or Al's," Esme said. "It's okay Em, it's not like you haven't shouldered more than your share in the past."

He could hear pots banging together in the background, and a man's voice, the accent crisp and proper. It must be Esme's new boyfriend, the doctor. Emmett had always just called on impulse, knowing that whatever might be going on, Esme would be happy for the break from her mundane life with her ex-husband, Charles. Clearly that wasn't the case anymore. "Sorry, I didn't mean to call in the middle of something, I was just walking and –"

"Em, you _never_ need an excuse to call. Carlisle and I were just trying to make applesauce, but we were failing miserably. I ended up slicing my thumb instead."

"I guess it's good to have a doctor in your life."

His sister laughed - a sound that had been missing from their conversations for far too long.

"No, silly, it's just good to have someone who can teach you different ways to say shit and help you get the band-aid on right the first time."

When they were kids, getting Alice and Esme to laugh or making things better had been Emmett's job. Now that they were grown and coming into their own, his sisters were finding the strength within themselves and from others, which hit Emmett in a strangely visceral way. He'd been replaced. They had people who wanted and needed them.

Where did that leave him?.

"Em, you still there?"

"Yeah, sorry," he said, hiking the bag up on his shoulder again. The strap didn't work well with wool, and continued to slip, an annoying but harmless detail. "Listen, I'm meeting someone for coffee. Just wanted to call you back and see if you remembered the leaves." There was a muffled giggle, followed by something scrapping close to the mouthpiece. "Go back to your Doc, Es. Love you."

Emmett didn't wait for her to say anything more, he simply punched the red disconnect button and slipped the phone back in his jacket pocket.

**-0-0-0-0-**

The sun streamed in through the tall plate glass windows as Emmett pulled up his email. He had a large cup of coffee and a small container of fruit, which he picked at as he skimmed the different sports sites, checking for injuries and lineup changes for the east coast games. The playoffs were just two weeks away, and there were still a few teams poised to upset the applecart.

What good was baseball without rooting for the underdog, anyway?

Usually, sitting in the sunshine with a good cup of joe and sports would put Emmett in a great mood, but something from his conversation with his sister weighed heavily on him. Emmett had never begrudged anyone in his family happiness. Hell, in his mind, Alice and Esme deserved it more than anyone. Even so, it was hard to hear how light Esme was around her new boyfriend. Maybe it was the overprotective streak he'd developed in his youth, but even so, Emmett wasn't quite sure how to accept that someone else had filled his place. He'd spent his life as the protector, sheltering his sisters, looking out for his nan. Without them, the holes in his life were all too prominent, and left Emmett wondering just where the hell he was going next.

"Stop being such a pussy," he mumbled. "You don't watch Oprah, you don't believe in life plans. Get over yourself."

There was a subtle motion in his peripheral vision, just by the door, yanking Emmett out of his self flagellation. There was a flash of brilliant red, like the scarf he'd worn home from the bar a few nights before. Emmett jerked his head in that direction, instinctively hoping to find the scarf draped around the neck of a tall blonde woman with blonde hair and a snub nose. Instead he found a group of teenage girls swathed in matching high school sweatshirts, their arms linked together as they laughed and chattered on, oblivious to his longing stare. The girl on the end, a lanky strawberry blonde with big green eyes pressed her hands to her chest and uttered a melodramatic "oh my!" as they breezed past.

Just like Annie Savoy. _Bull Durham_ was suddenly found everywhere.

Turning his attention back to his browser, Emmett pulled up his email. He'd planned on emailing Lily, passing on a funny thought that struck him as the girls wandered by, but she'd beat him to the punch with something better.

Just like he'd given her the words she'd needed, Lily had somehow turned it around and done the exact same thing for him. She made him feel needed, wanted even, all by letting him into her world and letting him know that in his own way he _had_ made a difference.

Hitting reply, Emmett tapped out a quick message, stopping a few times to backspace over errors. Four years of college, eleven years as a journalist and he still couldn't spell marijuana right to save his life.

_Lily –_

_You are a lifesaver. __I went from high to low to high again in the course of 20 minutes thanks to your email. __And I may have snorted at the Post-it note. __Tell your friend I said extra-small condoms are better than needs tampons and Midol._

_I'm out as part of my Saturday afternoon ritual (which makes me sound like an old man playing backgammon with his buddies) and a little girl, well, not really little, maybe fifteen or sixteen, just walked by me declaring 'oh my!' Thanks to you, I now hear Bull Durham quotes everywhere I go, even if unintentional. __So I'm going to change it up on you and make our quote battle into a deep, probing question.__ Do you remember when Annie and Crash were talking about reincarnation, and Crash asked why no one was ever reincarnated as Joe Schmo?_

_Well game on, sister. Who/what were you in a previous life? No fair saying Cleopatra, and no fair saying Joe, cause Crash already claimed him._

_I'll make it easy on you and go first. I was an oak tree. __Some kid built a tree house in the V of my trunk, a rickety old thing with uneven plank boards and a pirate's flag. In the fall, the adults would rake the dark crimson leaves that fell from my branches and put them in a big old barrel in the back to burn them. As the kids that lived there grew up, they caught on and would sneak out back behind the detached garage that I shaded, smoking joints and drinking beers in the shadows. When done they would burn my leaves, the pungent aroma masking the smell of marijuana. __There were initials carved in my trunk and a time capsule buried between my roots. __It's probably still there._

_Mac_

As he typed, Emmett pictured the oak tree in his grandparent's backyard, the broad trunk battered and scarred from years of McCarty children abuse. The Thanksgiving that Esme turned sixteen, she'd decided she wanted to climb up into their old clubhouse, not taking into account the boards had long ago rotted out. She'd been fine until stepping onto the old wooden base, which buckled and cracked under her weight, sending her crashing to the ground. Alice had run shrieking into the house, her high-pitched screams waking up Granda, Nan and Emmett from sound sleeps. Emmett held his sister's head in his lap, stroking her hair and telling her jokes until the ambulance arrived. The paramedics were kind enough not to note how dilated Esme's eyes were, or the barrel of leaves smoldering by the garage. Even with the fire, the burning leaves did little to mask the sickeningly sweet scent of Mary Jane, as Alice liked to call it.

The accident had managed to scare _one_ of his sisters straight. Esme never touched anything harder than alcohol again. Unfortunately it hadn't fazed Alice, who could have used a healthy dose of fear.

Oh well, as Nan would've said, better late than never.

Emmett glanced up, away from his computer, the niggling sense that someone was staring at him itching at the back of his neck. He was accustomed to being stared at. His size, the way he carried himself, the photo next to his byline: they were all different ways in which he drew attention. In high school and college he'd used the advantage, honing an _aw, shucks_ persona to draw women in. Even at the age of thirty-three he was hyper aware, always conscious of what was going on, even if only the periphery. It was part of what made him a good reporter, picking up on the subtext and catching what lay just underneath. That sixth sense had never sold him short, and it didn't now.

Rosalie Hale stood fifteen feet away, her hands twisting together awkwardly in front of her. A slim silver ring on her right hand caught the sun, a blood red garnet catching the light and turning from black to fiery red and back again. The ring on her other hand, a white stone, reflected an entirely different set of colors, shifting and changing with each motion. Kind of like her.

"Hi," she said. The declaration was softer, but still guarded. Maybe it was because he was no longer some random stranger, but she still seemed wary of him and his intent.

"Hey," Emmett said. He stood and reached across the small table to shove the other chair back for her. It was one of the many lessons that had been drilled into him over the years – always offer a lady a seat. Rosalie didn't move, her brow furrowing so that a smile line forming between her eyebrows, just left of center. It was that same questioning look she'd leveled at him the other night, like she was trying to figure out whether or not he was sincere.

_That_ he could actually do something about.

"How do you take your coffee?" Emmett asked. He was still standing, waiting for her to move, but Rosalie was locked in place, her hands still twisting in front of her. "Come on, I invited you here, which means I get to buy the first round."

She hesitated for a moment longer, some sort of internal war clearly being fought by the way she fidgeted back and forth. Finally, after an all too pregnant pause, Rosalie slipped off her coat, and the vertical line between her brows softened. "A decaf latte, please."

"And a cookie?" Emmett asked, cocking his head to the side and opening his eyes wide in what he knew was an expression of pure innocence. When he was little, this was the expression he'd let loose on Nan when he wanted to get out of doing the dishes or stay up late. She'd always laughed at him, calling him on his transparent effort. But she'd always given in.

"Wouldn't buying food make this a…date?" Rosalie asked, lifting her hand to cover her mouth in mock horror.

"Fine, I'll buy a cookie for me. You can have a bite." Emmett said, walking slowly backward. "No risk of a date there, right? One bite, that's like….a tease…"

The corners of Rosalie's mouth slowly inched up, and she sucked her lower lip in between her teeth. It was the crack in the wall that he needed.

"I'll take that as a yes," Emmett said, refusing to give up any ground gained. "Pull up a seat, I'll be right back."

Dodging the gaggle of girls by the counter, Emmett flagged down a barista and placed an order for a Grande skim latte and a brownie loaded down with dark chocolate chunks.

"You said a cookie," she said, eying the plate with suspicion. "That's _not_ a cookie."

"Technically, they're both desserts, and since you probably weren't going to eat it, I decided to improvise," he said, placing the plate on the table between them, "Not that anyone would have any interest in a brownie."

"Or dark chocolate." Rosalie's hand was out in a flash, breaking off a corner and popping it in her mouth. She hummed dramatically, rolling her eyes in over-exaggerated delight. When she looked at Emmett, there was a mischievous twinkle in her eye, which knocked Emmett off balance, and left him wondering just exactly what that façade at the bar had been all about. This woman wasn't cold, not in the least, she just had the act down. "You live with Garrett, you learn to move fast."

There was a moment of awkward silence as Rosalie chewed her bite of brownie. Emmett retreated to his coffee, taking a deliberately slow sip. She fidgeted with her cup, rotating the insulation ring around the base, the cardboard grating against the tabletop.

"So-"

"Listen-"

They both stopped, laughing awkwardly.

"You go first," Emmett said, sweeping his hand in front of Rosalie. She laughed again, then gnawed delicately on her lower lip. A long strand of hair fell into her eyes, and she tipped her head to the side, using a crooked finger to force the lock back into place. The motion was so precise, so controlled, and yet it radiated energy, like there was a mass of 'bam' lurking just below the surface. There wasn't a single helpless thing about Rosalie Hale, and somehow that made her all that much more vulnerable, slipping out of her comfort zone just to be here with him.

"I read your column today," Rosalie said, her gaze dropping to Emmett's laptop, which lay closed on the table between them. "My company had an event at Safeco Field a few years ago during the All-Star break. Instead of wearing these…" she extended one long leg, displaying a pair of quilted black leather flats, "I had on heels. No way could I run the bases without impaling second. I think that counts as cruel and unusual punishment in the state of Washington."

She chuckled at her joke, then dropped her head so that her hair fell across her face. It allowed Emmett the chance to study her more closely, trying to correlate this funny, self-deprecating woman with the cool, but caustic enigma at the bar. There had been glimpses of this underneath her acerbic attack, but even with the layers peeled back, her honesty and droll manner continued to pull Emmett in, making him feel like a little kid wanting to shout _more!_

Leaning forward, Emmett propped an elbow on the table and tipped his head forward in a mock, conspiratorial gesture. "Hey, Rosalie, did you hear about the nice guy with dark brown hair who died at the baseball game?" He paused just long enough to set up the point, then smiled, hoping he looked as self deprecating as he was trying to sound. "He drowned during the wave."

Rosalie wrinkled her nose, trying valiantly to affect an air of offense, but the smile gave her away. "Isn't that supposed to be a blonde joke?"

"Nice guys make fun of themselves, not of others," Emmett said, jabbing his thumb at his chest. "Remember, nice guy?"

She shook her head, the strand of hair falling back into her eyes. This time she didn't push it away. "You're never going to let me forget that, are you?"

"If I get a chance," he said, "then no."

They stared at each other across the table, Rosalie's smile growing, which only fueled Emmett's. It wasn't a tidal wave, but it was a slow trickle, just like any natural thaw should be.

For just over two hours, Rosalie and Emmett sat in Starbucks, talking about anything and nothing substantial at all. They spoke about their educations - his at Vanderbilt, hers at the University of Washington. They discussed their careers, including Emmett's anecdotes about his first job in central California covering high school football and Legion baseball. They danced around the topic of family, disclosing the bare minimum before turning to safer topics.

"I do have a baby, you know," Rosalie said. They were on their second brownie, and she was methodically picking the chocolate chunks out of the bar and lining them up like silent sentinels along the edge of the white plate. "He's a five year old Rhodesian Ridgeback named Balthazar. "

"Wow, you really got your figure back fast," he quipped, which earned him an eye roll in response. "How the hell did you ever pick the name Balthazar?"

Rosalie snorted, then slammed her hand over the mouth. Her cheeks were brilliant pink, her eyes wide with mortification. It made Emmett vow to make her laugh like that more often. He enjoyed seeing this side of her.

"Oh this is going to be a good story." Emmett leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. "Come on, spill."

She held her hand over her mouth for a moment longer before letting it fall away.

"Fine. The night I came home from the breeder, I got in a fight with my _then_ boyfriend." The time qualifier was uttered with disdain, and Emmett almost interrupted her, asking for more details on the offending party, but Rosalie plowed ahead before he could ask. "He wanted to go out but I refused to leave the little guy alone. I ended up curling up on the couch with a glass of wine, an itty bitty puppy and the remote. There was a _Smurfs_ marathon on Cartoon Network, and -"

"Please don't tell me you named your dog after a character from _The Smurfs_," Emmett moaned melodramatically.

"Gargamel's Godfather," Rosalie admitted, her voice dropping in a conspiratorial whisper. "I liked the way it sounded. But it doesn't suit him at all; he's a big cream puff. No bad ass to be found anywhere in him."

"Kind of like his mistress."

Rosalie's mouth popped open, ready to protest, but she stopped short and actually laughed. "Yeah, but she'll never admit that."

Pinching his fingers together and rotating them in front of his lips in an exaggerated locking gesture, Emmett pretended to throw an imaginary key over his shoulder. "Secret's safe with me."

She smiled, but then quickly looked away, that curtain of hair falling into place, like a break between acts of a play. It gave Emmett the opportunity to check his watch, the same battered Omega his granda had worn for years.

"You have to go, don't you?" Her voice was soft, maybe even a bit wistful. Or maybe that was his imagination getting the best of him, because Emmett really didn't want to leave.

"Yes," he said, slowly scooting his chair back. An idea had been forming slowly, something he wanted to launch, but he wasn't quite sure how Rosalie would take it. "Listen, Sunday's are family day at the stadium. After the game, they let kids down on the field to run the bases. I might be able to pull a few strings…"

He let the suggestion hang, a simple offering, something completely innocent with no expectations - just a chance to make up on a missed opportunity. Fifteen seconds turned into thirty, then forty. The protected silence made Emmett second guess himself, wonder if maybe he'd pushed too far, too fast.

Just when he was about to withdraw his offer, Rosalie surprised him.

"I think I'd like that."

**-0-0-0-**

That night, before crawling into bed, he emailed Lily. It was short.

_Lil – _

_My leaves are turning scarlet waiting. It's not nice to leave a dude hanging. Just for that, I won't let you peek in the time capsule._

_Today started out rough and ended high (not from the mar-i-ju-ana, thank you very much). Hope yours was good too._

_Mac_

**-0-0-0-**

Saturday's goodbye with Rosalie had been innocent – a quick, awkward hug, torsos forced awkwardly forward so that nothing else would touch. It was the same greeting Emmett received on Sunday afternoon, an oddly balanced hug, the stilted greeting between two people who don't quite know how to interact yet.

He'd had to call in more than a few favors to get Rosalie into the stadium. Fortunately, attendance was low and the weather was borderline lousy, which had dropped attendance significantly. If the Mariners had actually been winning, or a contender for the post season, there was no way Emmett could have ever pulled this off.

It was one of the few times, if ever, he'd ever been glad the M's sucked.

Rosalie clutched his arm, her big blue eyes wide with curiosity as he led her through the tunnels underneath the stadium, then up through the dugout and onto the field. The locker rooms had all long cleared out, and the grounds crew had already made the rounds, cleaning up the infield and brushing away the baselines. They'd left the bases in on instruction from the VP of Public Relations. Emmett would owe him a solid down the road, but he somehow doubted he would regret it.

"Where is everyone?" Rosalie asked. They stood on the two short steps that lead from the dugout onto the field.

"Right here," he said, nudging her forward. "You wanted to run the bases, have at it."

She turned sharply, her hand still wrapped securely around his arm. Emmett stood just behind her on the top step of the dugout, which brought them to eye level. Without anywhere to turn, and her hair tucked back in a ponytail Rosalie was exposed, allowing Emmett to watch the wheels turn as she tried to figure out his angle.

She did that a lot.

"Don't think, just go. Run, walk, skip, moonwalk, it doesn't matter, just _go_." He nudged her forward again. "If you want, you can even do it twice."

It was all the motivation she needed. Rosalie Hale, Helen of Troy, who shut down men with a single look, fell away. In her place was a woman….no, a girl, who took off around the bases, her long legs propelling her faster than Emmett would have ever guessed she could move. He climbed out of the dugout to lean against the heavy perimeter wall that separated the stands from the field, watching her run.

Reporters brought family down on the field all the time, giving them tours, introducing them to the staff, even grabbing pictures with players. Emmett was the anomaly. In the seven months he'd worked for the Times, he'd only done this one other time. His sisters had flown out in April for a game, and the three of them had hung out after, sitting in the stands talking as the grounds crew cleared away the trash with leaf blowers and long pointed sticks. It was the first time in as long as Emmett could remember that things had been almost normal for them, maybe even light. They'd made a promise to each other that day, and when she returned home, Alice had re-entered rehab, committed to taking it seriously this time. Two months into her new found sobriety, she credited that weekend as being the precious moment that turned everything around for her.

As Emmett watched the enigmatic blonde run the bases, he couldn't help but think of his sister, and wonder if maybe that was what he was doing now, creating the pivotal moment in his future too.

"Why are you just standing there?" Rosalie asked, her breath coming in short little puffs. She'd run three full circuits around the diamond. Two at a full out sprint, her running shoes kicking up dirt as she tore around the bases. The third had been slower, more leisurely, as she waved and vamped to the nonexistent crowds. "Aren't you going to run?"

"No."

"Then get out to the mound and pitch," she said. She took up a position at home plate, lining her hands up so it looked like she was holding an imaginary bat. "I read that article of yours, McCarty, and I am going to _light_ your sunshine ball up."

"The sun's not out," he said, pointing to his watch. "Kind of hard to throw a fast ball."

"Come on," Rosalie taunted, dropping down into a batter's crouch, her hands aligned, the left hand on the bottom. She shook her hips from side to side, taunting him. "Throw the heat, meat."

Emmett laughed and jogged to the mound, ignoring the way his loafers rubbed against his heels. "You are so going down, Hale."

"In your dreams," she shot back, twirling her pretend bat. "You couldn't strike me out if you tried."

Emmett pressed his elbows in close to his sides, his hands clasped as though he were holding a ball. He glanced over his shoulder at first base, then went into an over-exaggerated wind up, his long leg pulling up to his chest. He ignored the way his knee protested, the tendons and cartilage crackling as he went planted his left foot firmly on the mound, his right arm whipping up and over his body. Rosalie went into a similarly exaggerated swing, her head immediately jerking up to watch the pretend ball as it allegedly sailed into left field.

"It's going…it's going…it's gone!" she declared triumphantly, and started another slow circuit around the bases, her hand up in an exaggerated wave of thanks.

Emmett let her showboat until she hit third base, then he took off towards home plate, cutting Rosalie off before she could tag safe.

"No infield home runs on my watch!" he said, grabbing her around the waist. She squealed, her body instinctively rolling into itself, which allowed Emmett to keep them both balanced. He spun her around twice before planting her just behind home plate. "You're out, Hale."

"You're not allowed to obstruct the runner," she said, her laughter mixing with her gasps of air.

"Distracting, obstructing," Emmett said. He kept one hand firmly wrapped around her waist, and brought the other to rest at the base of her neck, his thumb pressing against the hollow of her throat. "I still got you out."

"You played dirty," she protested.

"No," Emmett said. He'd brought her down her to run the bases, but now, with her so close, and not pulling away, things were quickly moving into uncharted territory. He quickly decided he wasn't going to resist. Moving slowly, so as not to spook Rosalie, he kissed her gently, his lips brushing the exact same spot he'd kissed her at the bar. When she didn't pull away, he kissed her again, and then again, moving closer. He caught the corner of her mouth, and then her lips, where a few strands of hair had embedded themselves in her gloss.

When she didn't pull away, he kissed her again, conscious of the way her throat moved under his thumb. She took a gulp of air and kissed him back, her lips parting just the slightest bit. And then again, her tongue just barely touching his before pulling back.

In high school, when Emmett played baseball, he used to bring girls out to the baseball field, and make out with them in the dugout. The coarse cinderblock walls had been a perfect accomplice, providing a solid surface to lean his willing accomplice up against, granting him access to curves, valleys, and all the other places he could want or need. Part of him wanted to do that now, to move Rosalie slowly down into the dugout, to pin her up against the wall and let his hands explore. He wanted to dig his fingers in her hair and tilt her head back, to bury his nose in her neck and listen to her labored breathing.

But he also knew she expected that, maybe not from him, but from men in general. It would make him no different than the countless guys who'd passed through her door, the men who had mistreated his sisters, or even the guy that broke Lily's heart. It was enough to pull him up short, and to push him down the noble path. The one he'd been raised to follow.

"So does this mean you'll go out on a real date with me now?" he asked, his voice husky and low. It betrayed what he was really thinking, but Emmett wasn't ashamed of that. He wasn't thinking of Rosalie in a purely platonic way, but that didn't mean he wasn't thinking about other things too, like the way she laughed, or how she stood up to him.

Emmett would be lying if he said he hadn't enjoyed that too.

"A real date, like with food?"

He laughed, the perfect idea already forming.

"With food, but never predictable."

Rosalie smiled up at him, her nose wrinkling in delight. "Yes, and here's hoping your ability to pick a restaurant is better than your pitching."

He kissed her again, happy that she said yes, and only slightly upset at himself for taking the high road and being the good guy. It didn't preclude a run at the dugout wall in the future. Hell, it might have insured a repeat performance.

* * *

**Thanks to LSD for making us better, and Lookingforhoofprints for nudging us down this path.**


	6. Nice to See You

**The characters don't belong to us. The story belongs to lookingforhoofprints.**

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* * *

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**Chapter 6 – Nice to See You **

Rosalie sat in her car for a long time, long after Emmett had walked her there, had grazed the corner of her mouth and promised to call her later in the week to finalize plans for their date. She'd watched him make his way back across the parking lot, his long legs carrying him quickly. He'd turned around halfway, walking backwards, and graced her with the wide smile that she felt deep down inside of her. With a staccato honk, she started her car, waiting until he'd disappeared before she leaned her forehead against the steering wheel and let out a shaky breath.

She could still feel the pressure of Emmett's mouth, the warm and welcome but much too brief sensation of his tongue against hers. And Jesus, those hands with long tapered fingers that could probably cover miles of skin if they wanted to.

She'd felt his hesitation at first, like he thought she was going to stop him or run away. He'd been careful with her, lips moving quietly, softly, a silent question. Her body had responded before her brain even knew what was going on. And when she finally realized what was happening – that she was being kissed and kissing back – it was over.

Her blood was pumping furiously through her veins, her heart pounding. It wasn't used to this kind of stimulation, not after a year of the driest dry spell known to man. Emmett was like some kind of gorgeous oasis in the metaphorical desert that was her love life. She hadn't even known how much she missed that kind of connection until he'd given her a taste. She wanted more.

She straightened up, turning the ignition. Again. The engine made an ugly grinding noise and she let out a frustrated growl. "Get your shit together, Hale. If you can't hold it together when he kisses you, how are you going to when he -" She stopped herself, a record screeching to a halt somewhere in a dark corner of her mind. If she thought of that, she'd never make it home.

Either that or she'd run after Emmett and jump him in the dugout.

"It was just a kiss," she said, as she pulled out of the parking space and wound her way toward the exit. "A peck. Okay, not a peck, but there was barely any tongue."

_Right, like it was _just_ coffee? _An annoying voice chimed in, sounding both smug and dubious. Hell, _she _barely believed herself. She could try to deny it until she was blue in the face, but there was nothing _just _about Emmett. He was the very definition of _more_, this looming possibility. And now that it was here, that _he _was here, she couldn't ignore it, even if it scared the shit out of her.

She stabbed at the stereo blindly, letting music drown out the thoughts that were swirling around in her mind. She pushed back all of the questions and _what ifs_. She ignored the part of her that warned her to be careful, not to trust this, to remember what happened last time and how much it had hurt. That part of her was getting microscopically smaller every time she saw Emmett.

Of course, this gave her mind free rein to focus on other things, like the way Emmett's palm had felt against her neck and his lips against her lips, the way the solid lines of his body felt against the soft curves of hers. She'd forgotten how good it felt to be wanted – simply, without any ulterior motives or pushing to go further, to just be kissed in a way that made every square inch of her buzz.

Of course, it also made her want more.

Rosalie pulled into her driveway ten minutes later behind Garrett's car. Pulling down the visor, she checked her reflection in the mirror to make sure there were no outward signs of how she was feeling on the inside. She hadn't told Garrett and Kate where she was going when she rushed out earlier. Luckily, they'd been tangled up together on the couch, too caught up in flirtatious banter to ask too many questions or notice the extra spring in her step. Balthazar, however, had followed her to the front door, eyeing his leash, which hung from the coat rack mounted to the wall.

"Sorry, big guy," she'd whispered, slipping out the door. "We'll go out when I'm back."

Balthazar wasn't waiting for her when she opened the front door, though. There was a rustle and she opened her mouth to call for him, but was interrupted by a sound.

No, not a sound. A moan.

Rosalie rolled her eyes, trying not to be irritated by Garrett and Kate's…enthusiasm for each other. It was a small house and she knew they tried not to have sex when she was up and about – Garrett had shared that tidbit of information during a particularly ear-bleeding conversation. Still, it definitely didn't help where her mind had been for the past few hours, and particularly in the last thirty minutes. There was nothing like hearing other people having sex to painfully emphasize the fact that you _weren't_.

She rounded the corner quietly, intending to go to the backyard where Balthazar was probably munching on grass that he'd throw up later. She was barely into the living room when she saw it. It took her a few seconds to understand what _it _was.

_It _was actually _them_: Garrett and Kate tangled up on the couch like Rosalie had left them, only they'd somehow managed to lose their clothes. And Garrett was now on top of Kate. And Garrett and Kate were now _having sex._

There was so much bare skin and hips moving and sounds, oh god, the sounds. In the three seconds it took for Rosalie's eyes to relay the message to her brain that this was not something she should ever, ever see in her life, the image of Garrett's bare ass had already been seared into her memory forever.

"Jesus Christ!" Rosalie yelled, her hands flying over her face as she stumbled backwards. "Oh, my god, my eyes!"

There was a shriek, though she wasn't sure if it was she or Kate or both of them, and then a lower rumble of, "Oh, shit, oh fuck, hold on."

"If you're finishing, I swear to god –"

"_What_? No, just – just hold on." Rosalie started to drop her hands, forgetting for a moment why they were there in the first place, but Garrett's bellow stopped her cold. "Keep your eyes closed! Babe, let me -"

"Garrett! Just hand me the blanket for god's sake," Kate snapped, her voice high and thin with panic.

"There's only one. What am I supposed to use?"

"You can figure it out since _you're_ the one who got us into this in the first place. 'Oh, just trust me, Kate. It'll be fine, Kate. Just take off your clothes, Kate.' You did that thing you know I can't say no to and -"

Rosalie stomped her foot to get their attention. "You guys! I'm still here and I'm already traumatized, so please shut the fuck up and tell me when I can open my eyes."

There was a short pause before Garrett spoke. "Do you want me to shut the fuck up or tell you when you can open your eyes? I can't do both."

Rosalie removed her hands from her face slowly, taking in the scene inch by careful inch. Kate was now wrapped in the chenille blanket that was usually folded over the loveseat, her face red and hair disheveled. Garrett was clutching a throw pillow in front of him, his expression vacillating between amusement and embarrassment.

"Oops?"

Taking a deep, steadying breath so she wouldn't scream, Rosalie held up her hand. "This," she said, gesturing to Garrett and Kate wildly, "is so _not okay_."

Kate stepped forward, clutching the edges of the blanket around her slender shoulders with one hand. The other was pressed against her cheek. "Rose, I am so, so sorry. We just got carried away."

Kate turned to Garrett, looking for help. He shifted from foot to foot, a sheepish grin on his face. The subtle blotches on his neck were the only indication that he found this situation anything other than amusing.

"You weren't supposed to be home so soon," Garrett said, darting a glance at Kate and then back at Rosalie.

"Oh, I'm sorry that my arrival time didn't align with your plans to fornicate on the couch," Rosalie snapped, turning on her heel and making her way briskly toward her bedroom.

"Nice apology, jackass," Kate muttered, slapping Garrett on the stomach.

"I wasn't done, Katie," Garrett replied indignantly. She heard Kate murmur a response, but she was too far away to make out the words. She nudged the door shut with her foot and then flopped back on the bed, pressing the heels of her palms against her eyes.

Bad idea. The visual was playing on an endless loop every time she closed her eyes. She wasn't sure when – or if – that would ever be washed from her brain.

She lay on her bed for a few quiet minutes, trying not to think of her best friend and his girlfriend having sex on the couch that she sat on, trying not to think about her kiss with Emmett and how he'd gone out of his way to set up the opportunity for her to run bases. She tried not to think of _anything _but breathing in and out, feeling the sensation of air circulating through her lungs and raising her chest up and down. Her heart was still pounding with adrenaline, both from walking in on Garrett and Kate and from what had happened at the ballpark. She was on sensation overload.

There was a soft knock at her door and Rosalie let out a long sigh, not bothering to raise her head. She knew who it was.

"Can I come in?" Garrett asked, already halfway inside.

"By all means," Rosalie replied, waving her hand in the air dismissively. He hovered not far from the bed and she lifted her head, arching an eyebrow at him. He was dressed now, thank god, playing with the drawstring on his dark sweats. He seemed unsure as he scrubbed at his jaw with one hand.

"So, that was pretty awkward," he stated. "I'm not sure Kate's ever going to leave our room."

"This wouldn't be an issue if you'd gone to your room in the first place," Rosalie pointed out, sitting up. Garrett sat next to her on the bed, nudging her shoulder with his bare one.

"Lesson learned the hard way." He gave her a sideways look and an evil grin and she rolled her eyes. "That's what she said."

"What just happened..." Rosalie trailed off, trying to pluck a word strong enough from her vocabulary.

Garrett let out a breath. "Was not okay, I know."

"I was thinking more along the lines of lobotomy-worthy."

"Dude, I have a great ass," Garrett protested with a laugh. Rosalie stopped him with a steely look and he smiled wryly, looking down at his hands resting in his lap. "Okay, I get it, you're pissed and you have a right to be. I really am sorry you had to see that. You've been really cool about having Kate live here and I fucked up."

"You just fucked, period," Rosalie said with a wry snort.

Garrett rolled his eyes and knocked his knuckles against her knee. "I'm trying to apologize here, Hale."

Rosalie shifted on the bed until she was nearly facing him. "Apology accepted on the condition that you never, _ever_ subject me to that again."

"At this point, I'm not even sure I'll be getting any ever again," he sighed, running a hand through his hair.

"Is she mad at you?"

He grimaced. "Embarrassed. I mean, how would you feel if someone walked in on you having hot, hot sex?"

Rosalie shoved him and he let out an impish laugh. "You're an idiot. And I wouldn't know. Not lately, anyway."

"Hey, not for lack of candidates."

Emmett's face flashed in her mind and she looked down, her heart racing as she picked at a small hole at the knee of her jeans. If there were any candidates, he was the only one who mattered. Certainly the only one she wanted to even entertain the thought of. "Yeah, well..." she trailed off, not sure how to broach the subject to Garrett or even if she was ready to. Things were going well so far, but "so far" only included a couple of phone calls and a few interactions over the span of a week. She wasn't sure if that was enough to build confidence on, or even hope.

And yet she found that she _did _have hope. She hoped that whatever was happening with Emmett would continue. She couldn't have stopped it from growing if she wanted to.

"It's been a year, Rosie," Garrett continued, misinterpreting her hesitation. She glanced at him and he tilted his head, making his patented I'm Concerned face.

"He's getting married, you know," Rosalie replied matter-of-factly.

"Edward?" Garrett asked, surprised.

Rosalie raised an eyebrow and nodded, then went back to her task of making the hole in her jeans bigger. She was almost to skin now. "Yeah, he and Bella are tying the knot."

Garrett was quiet for a moment. "Well, that's...news. How'd you hear?"

"Oh, you know, the old college grapevine. Jess Stanley emailed me to let me know and make sure I was 'okay.'" Rosalie emphasized the word with finger quotes, her tone dry, emotionless. She was surprised to find that she really _didn't _feel much of anything at all. Once the news had sunk in and she'd found her catharsis through _Bull Durham _and Google images, she felt lighter, or at the very least like that chapter of her life had closed for good. She'd been moving on before, but at an iceberg's pace. This had accelerated the process. Everything that had happened since she'd heard the news had only helped her along.

"So...are you?" Garrett asked, breaking Rosalie out of her thoughts. She looked over at him with a frown and his eyes scanned her face. "Are you okay?"

Rosalie let out a long, slow breath. "I'm okay. It was weird hearing that he'd finally made that commitment with someone else, because...I mean, Jesus, it was such a chore to get him to commit to anything big with me. Getting Balthazar was a goddamned event." She shook her head, training her eyes on a picture of her and her parents standing in front of the Eiffel Tower when she was fourteen. It sat on her dresser next to the lemon verbena lotion that now reminded her of Emmett every time she put it on. "We spent eight years together and we were just never sure, I guess. It definitely gives evidence to the theory of 'when you know, you know.'"

"I know it sounds like bullshit, but it's true."

She looked sideways at him, taking in the way his eyes had gone a little unfocused. She knew he was back in that Starbucks, reaching for the latte that would change his life and Kate's. Sometimes it was that simple, that instantaneous. And god knew Garrett deserved that. He'd slogged through his fare share of Miss Right Nows that had turned into Miss What The Hell Were You Thinkings.

"Pussy," she teased with a wink. Garrett snorted and squeezed her knee, his expression going serious again.

"I know it's been hard for you, but I want to see you move on and be happy. And I'm not saying you can only find happiness if you're with someone, but you're not even giving yourself a chance to _meet_ someone, Rose. Like Emmett last week. You -"

"- Have a date with him," Rosalie interrupted.

"Have a date with him," Garrett echoed, dumbfounded. He pulled back, staring at her. "Wait, what?"

"I was with him earlier today. And we had coffee yesterday. _And _if all goes according to plan, we're going on a date," she replied, her mouth pulling up into a grin at the look of sheer bewilderment on her best friend's face. She could see the wheels turning. His eyes darted back and forth between hers and then narrowed.

"You're talking about Emmett."

"Yes."

"Emmett McCarty."

"Yes, Garrett."

He stared at her for a long moment, scratching his head slowly. "How the fuck?"

"It's a long story," she replied, feeling her smile stretch wider, thinking of the leaps and bounds they'd made since their first meeting at the bar. Garrett opened his already gaping mouth but she held up a hand. "That's all you're getting for now, okay? Just trust that this is me giving myself a chance."

It felt good to say that – freeing in a way. It had been so long since she'd felt like making the effort, so long since she'd wanted to give herself - or anyone else - the chance to get beyond the image she projected. It had been even longer since someone had _wanted_ to see beyond it.

"I..." Garrett trailed off, seemingly at a loss for words. He looked carefully at Rosalie again and she wondered what exactly it was that he saw. Whatever it was made him acquiesce; he sat back, one side of his mouth quirking up. "Okay. Fine, you get a hall pass for now, but I'm not going to let this slide for long, got it?"

"Ooh, I'm scared," Rosalie taunted, with an exaggerated shiver.

He stood up, sauntering toward the door. Rosalie's gaze went to the tattoo on his right shoulder blade - a blackbird, its wings outstretched. It was a tribute to his mom and her favorite song, the one she sang to him (and sometimes Rosalie) when he was little because he was positive he couldn't fall asleep unless she did. He'd gotten the tattoo just before she was diagnosed with cancer. She'd died six months later and Rosalie still so vividly remembered lying in Garrett's childhood bedroom on his little twin bed after the funeral and singing that song, her even tone mixing with his hoarse one.

"You know I'm here for you, right?" Garrett asked, turning around in the doorway.

Their friendship wasn't one that allowed for many spoken declarations. But for all of their bickering and merciless teasing, after so many years they both knew when to strip all of that away and be heartfelt, to let the other know that this was thick and thin and everything in between.

"I know," Rosalie replied quietly.

He smiled and then ducked out, shutting the door softly behind him.

**-0-0-0-**

Later that night, Rosalie was lounging in bed with Balthazar, her laptop balancing on her thighs as she opened up Gmail.

Mac had sent her two messages the previous day, but she'd been so caught up with Emmett that she hadn't had a chance to respond, though she'd read both several times with the goofy smile that seemed to find its way onto her face whenever he popped up in her inbox. She'd thought of him on her way to the ballpark, fallen leaves lining the street and dancing out on the breeze behind her car, and again when she'd taken Balthazar for a walk just a while ago. Their street was lined with tall, aged oak trees that stretched up toward the sky. It was one of the things that had made her fall in love with the house when she and Garrett had come to see it. There was something serene and comforting about the solidity of them, and now she couldn't help but associate them with Mac. It seemed fitting, given that he gave her that same feeling. Maybe he _had _been one in a past life.

She'd stopped underneath one of them, looking up at its strong, stable branches, admiring the way the sun filtered in through the leaves. She'd traced the initials that someone had carved into the brittle bark. A bird had chirped somewhere overhead and then another and she'd smiled to herself, already formulating her response.

She had found her answer in Mac's. The thought made her inexplicably happy.

_Mac, _

_Sorry to make your leaves drop off. You left them all over my yard, so maybe that's my punishment. _

_I was walking in my neighborhood today, thinking about who or what I was in a past life, and stopped to say hi to one of your pals. There were birds hanging out in his branches, probably making nests and gossiping as birds are apt to do. Or at least I assume that's what all that damn chirping is about. _

_At any rate, I was a bird in my past life. But not just any bird, because that would be too easy (and boring). I was the most badass of all the birds in the bird kingdom - a Peregrine Falcon. I was incredibly fast, almost impossible to catch, but once I let someone get me, I was theirs for good. I was fiercely loyal, proud, independent. I probably took out a bird or two if they were making too much noise (I was the silent type unless you pissed me off). I'm sure I loved the feeling of flying, but I always came back to the same spot because I loved having a place to land even more. _

_Maybe I ended up in your tree. I bet it was a great place to live. _

_That would make a great pick-up line, don't you think? _

_Lily _

She didn't expect him to answer right away, especially after she'd kept him waiting, so she was surprised when a new message popped up in her inbox less than an hour later.

"What are you up to tonight, Mac?" Rosalie asked her computer, as if he could hear her. But in so many ways, they did hear one another. She may not have known his name or where he lived, what his job was or what his daily routine looked like, but she felt like she knew him in other more profound and familiar ways. And in return, she let him know her too.

_Lily - _

_Biting the tongue...oh screw it, I'm not._

_Making me molt my leaves in impatience. How rude. Just for that I hope you can't find your rake._

_I kid. _

_As for the pick-up line - you need to put yourself out there more. That has got to be one of the worst ones I've ever heard. Right up there with "can I see your tan lines?" _

_But I can't talk. Do you know how long it's been since I've put myself out there? I'm the worst kind of guy - not really dating and not ever letting anyone get too close, but never at a loss for company, know what I mean? I've seen too much bad happen in relationships to feel really optimistic about it, you know? But here I am, early on in what I think might be a relationship, and I'm being challenged and pushed at every turn. Maybe she was a bird buddy of yours in a previous life, because damn if she isn't as feisty and stubborn. But I can tell you, she wouldn't agree with your pick-up line. It keeps me on my toes, that's for sure._

_So I've been thinking a lot - free time does that for me. I got back on the horse. You unjammed your eyelids. Why aren't you a shrink or something? And where have you been all my messed up adult life?_

_Mac_

Rosalie drummed her fingers on the track pad of her computer, re-reading his message, something that had become her ritual with him. She laughed thinking about all of the terrible pick-up lines she'd heard over the years. If only he knew.

With a small smile playing on her lips, she began to type.

_Mac_,

_Trust me, I've heard every pick-up line. Even the tan lines one. There's something to be said for simplicity when it comes to hitting on someone. What's wrong with a smile, good conversation and picking up the tab first round? I don't want a gimmick. I want real and genuine. _

_Maybe it all goes back to being afraid to put yourself out there. That's a scary thing, especially if you've been burned before. People hide behind projected personas so that if it doesn't work out, they can dust themselves off and move on. No harm, no foul. They didn't really know you anyway, right? But sometimes you find someone who pushes your boundaries, like your girl. I have one of those, too, and to be honest, he scares me. It's a long way up, getting back on that horse, but what's the alternative? I'm starting to see that you can't hide yourself away just because you've had a bad experience (or experiences, as it seems in your case). _

_Your shrink comment made me laugh. I'd make a terrible one - talking about emotions is just above riding a unicycle on the list of things I'm good at. I just happen to know where you're coming from. It makes it easy to dispense advice (and sound smart doing it). _

_Good luck with Bird. Just see where she takes you, Mac. As Crash would say, don't think. It's bad for the ball club. _

_Lily_

Rosalie pressed send and then shut down her laptop, nestling under the covers next to Balthazar with his head on the pillow next to hers. She absently scratched his muzzle, smiling to herself when a lone bird chirped outside her window.

**-0-0-0-**

It was chilly Friday night, the air crisp against Rosalie's cheeks as she stood outside the entrance of Pier 57. She bounced from foot to foot impatiently, scanning the street for Emmett before checking her watch for the tenth time since arriving five minutes ago.

He'd called Tuesday to solidify plans for their date, though his interpretation of solidifying was telling Rosalie to meet him at the pier at seven and to dress casually. There was no mention of where they were going or what they were doing and no amount of cajoling, sweet-talking or threatening would make him tell her more than that. Rosalie normally hated surprises and hated waiting even more (that was probably why she always searched out and opened her Christmas presents before Christmas), but there was a sense of delicious anticipation in this case.

As it turned out, she wasn't the only one feeling the anticipation. Emmett texted her Wednesday afternoon; apparently Garrett was trying to ferret information out of him. Though he'd been playing it cool with Rosalie, he was apparently all over Emmett for details on what was going on between them. Emmett seemed as reluctant to give up the goods as she was, though, and kept her up-to-date on his evasive maneuvers, which included blasting music through his speakers (as loudly as he could get away with, anyway) to drown Garrett out when he'd stop by Emmett's desk.

She'd started drawing attention with her laughter and ridiculously goofy smiles. Tyler, an analyst whose office was a few doors down (and who had asked her out no less than seventeen times), had casually walked past her door Thursday morning. He might as well have been whistling nonchalantly with his hands in his pockets for how obvious he was. Rosalie could smell the curiosity rolling off of him from a mile away. Predictably, Gianna had stared at her in that patented, slightly disturbed way when Rosalie practically skipped to the elevator at five. She knew her behavior was odd to everyone in her small office, but she couldn't find it in herself to care.

Between her texts with Emmett, which had become more frequent and rife with flirty banter and less about Garrett over the past two days, and the emails she and Mac were occasionally shooting back and forth, her phone was practically glued to her hand. The two of them had become major players in her life, albeit in very different ways, but they both brightened her day, made her feel things she hadn't in a very, very long time.

She glanced down at her watch again, just as the minute hand hit twelve. It was seven on the dot and as if on cue, she saw Emmett crossing the street at a slow jog. Her heart flipped in her chest. He hadn't seen her yet and she watched him openly, unabashedly. He looked gorgeous in dark jeans and a black shirt, the collar of his jacket popped up so that his hair brushed against it in the breeze. It was dark, but she could see underneath the glow of the lamplights that his cheeks were tinged pink.

When their eyes locked, she watched in fascination as his mouth spread into a slow, sexy grin. She swallowed and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, trying to get a hold of herself. Her body was having none of it, though, insistent on letting her stomach clench and her heart race as he crossed the street, slowing his pace and keeping his gaze on her.

"You're on time," she accused when he was close enough.

"And hello to you, too," he shot back, stopping mere inches from her. She tilted her head back, letting her eyes move slowly from his neck to his lips and then finally to his eyes, which were bright with amusement.

"Shit, did I mess it up?" she asked with an exaggerated grimace.

His grin widened. "You did, but I'll forgive you."

"You're such a nice guy, Emmett McCarty."

"You're not saying that with as much malice as you did the first time we met."

She laughed and he ducked his head with a chuckle, bringing their mouths dangerously close. He seemed surprised by the proximity at first, but they adjusted quickly, their breath shortening simultaneously. She stayed still, gripping onto his sleeves to keep balanced, her heart stopping altogether now. She felt like a pendulum, swinging back and forth wildly, out of control. It was scary, exhilarating, so new.

"Can you overlook my nice guy status for a second?" he questioned. His breath fanned out against her skin, warm and inviting.

"What are you going to do to prove yourself otherwise?" Rosalie asked, but she knew, even before his lips brushed hers, exactly what was about to happen. It was what she'd been thinking about all week - the confident, warm pressure of his mouth against hers, the sweet, minty taste of him. His arm went around her waist, securing her body against his and she sighed softly, pressing herself against him. She could feel his smile against her lips as he grazed one last lingering kiss at the corner of her mouth before pulling away.

"There we go, that's better," he murmured.

"Uh huh." She barely managed the simple response and he laughed as he stepped back, grasping her hand in his. She looked down at their entwined fingers and then back up, her gaze zeroing in on his mouth. "That was..."

"Nice?" he guessed.

"Something like that," she replied, running a hand along her collarbone to keep her hands busy. She was two seconds away from grabbing his jacket and backing him up against the nearest wall. _Nice _didn't even begin to describe it.

His eyes flicked down and followed the movement of her fingertips before he looked up at her, leveling here with a devastating grin. "Ready to go inside?"

"Are you planning on telling me where we're going?"

Emmett pulled her hand, propelling her forward. "You'll see when we get there."

"There" ended up being The Crab Pot, a well-known seafood restaurant that overlooked the water. It was a casual atmosphere, fun and a little rowdy. Emmett stayed close to Rosalie as the hostess led them back to their table. He kept his hand on her hip and she let herself vamp it up a bit, swinging her hips languidly from side to side. She felt playful, comfortable, sexy and she let herself feel it, allowed herself to be in the moment with him. She looked over her shoulder with an innocent smile when his grip on her tightened slightly.

"Shameless," he murmured in her ear.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," she said primly, sliding into the far side of the booth. Emmett squinted at her dubiously, his lips twitching as he sat down opposite of her. His knees brushed against hers and he readjusted so that their legs were staggered. She wrapped her feet around his ankles teasingly, opening her mouth to speak again, but a familiar face stepped into her peripheral vision and stopped her short.

She felt the shock slide through her body, cold and rapid, as her gaze snapped to him. Edward. She wasn't even sure it _was _him at first - he looked taller, more filled out, his hair shorter - but then she saw the petite brunette tucked into his side.

_Of all the seafood joints in all the towns in all the world._

"Holy shit," Rosalie muttered, sliding down in the booth and then sitting straight up again. He and Bella were getting closer, laughing with their heads bent toward one another, and for a moment she thought she might get out of this without having to talk to her ex-boyfriend and his fiancé while she was on a date with the first guy she'd wanted since...well, Edward. Her hands fluttered uselessly at her throat and up to her suddenly burning cheeks before settling flat on the tabletop. "Um, Emmett -"

"Rose?" Emmett questioned. His voice was amplified by someone else saying her name at the same time. His head swung around to look up at Edward and Bella, who had stopped short just before their table. The hostess hovered nearby, her eyes darting between the four of them uncertainly.

Rosalie shot Emmett a look - she wasn't sure if it was _help me _or _I'm sorry _- before looking up at Edward. "Edward, hi. Hey, Bella."

Bella gave her an uncomfortable smile, both of her hands clamped around Edward's. "Hey, Rosalie."

Rosalie hadn't seen Edward since just a few months after they'd broken up. Seattle was a fairly large city, thank god, but fate had conspired against her that rainy day in the personal care aisle at CVS. Edward and Bella had been buying condoms. Rosalie had been buying tampons. It had been an almost laughable way to meet the girl who had filled her vacant spot. Her losing battle with PMS mixed with the pain of having him move on so swiftly had made her demeanor cold at best, hostile at worst. Needless to say, few words had been exchanged. It had been an agonizing interaction.

Now it was just really, really awkward.

"Wow, small world," Edward said with an uncomfortable chuckle, tugging at his ear.

"Small world," she repeated, though really she was thinking more along the lines of ironic world. Or fucked-up-sense-of-humor world. She turned to Emmett, who was wearing a bemused half-grin. His mouth was twisted, one dimple accentuated. "This is Emmett."

She stopped short, unsure of how to announce him. He wasn't her boyfriend. Hell, they were still in the getting-to-know-all-about-you phase.

Luckily, Emmett spoke up before her silence stretched out too long, holding his hand out to Edward. "Nice to meet you, man."

"Nice to meet you, too," Edward replied.

"Nice to meet you," Bella echoed as Emmett enveloped her hand in his.

The hostess, a thin blonde who couldn't have been more than seventeen, backtracked, holding two menus aloft. She looked completely bewildered by the scene unfolding before her. "Um, do you guys want to share a table?"

"No!" Edward and Rosalie exclaimed loudly.

"We should go, actually, leave you two to your dinner," Edward continued. "It was nice seeing you."

Rosalie held back a laugh. She could feel Emmett's gaze on her, could almost feel the smile he was probably holding back, too, but she didn't dare make eye contact. It was funny how many different meanings the word "nice" could hold. "You, too."

After they had gone, she sank back against the booth, studiously rearranging her silverware before hazarding a glance at Emmett. He was watching her carefully, his eyebrows practically in his hairline and a questioning smile on his face. "Yeah, so there's no history there," she said.

"I could tell," he replied. "Not awkward at all."

She let out a tense laugh before sitting up straight. "That's the ex I was telling you about last week."

"_No_," Emmett teased, his eyes going wide. She kicked him under the table - hard - and he let out a laughing yelp. "Jesus, you've got a wicked kick there, Hamm."

She laughed again, easier this time, already feeling the tension that had settled in the air dissipating. "I'm sorry you had to be subjected to that."

"No apology needed." He paused, tilting his head. His eyes swept over her appraisingly. "Want to talk about it?"

"There's not much to talk about. It's..." She took a deep breath, sick of talking about it and thinking about it. She felt so far away from Edward now, and though seeing him had been a shock, it had been just that - surprising, unexpected. That had been a different life for both of them. And however much the break-up and his subsequent moving on had hurt, it was done. She wanted to give herself permission to move on, too. "It was a long time ago and it's over now. That's really all there is to tell."

They were quiet for a moment while the table next to them erupted in laughter. Emmett leaned forward, beckoning Rosalie with the crook of his finger and she moved closer, leaning her chin against her hand. His gaze drifted over her face again, slowly this time. Everything else fell away - the people in the restaurant, Edward and Bella, the raucous noise that surrounded them - and it was quiet, just him and her and the small space that separated them.

"Can I interest you in some booze, then?"

She smiled, grateful that he'd dropped the subject so willingly. "Now you're talking, McCarty."

Emmett flagged down their waiter and not five minutes later, there was a bottle of red and two shot glasses - vodka for her and tequila for him - sitting between them on the table.

"What are the shots for?" she asked, arching an eyebrow at him.

He mimicked her and she rolled her eyes, unable to stop from grinning. "Have you ever played Never Have I Ever?"

"Never have I ever," she replied, giggling at her own joke.

He grimaced comically, pushing the shot glass toward her with a wink. "Well, drink up, sweetheart. You're about to get schooled."

* * *

**Thanks and love to AccioBourbon for stepping into LightStarDusting's shoes for this chapter and being our lovely red pen. We love you both! **

**Next chapter is up next week. Happy New Year!**


	7. He Just Broke the Game Wide Open

**This is for Lily, who we adore.**

**Characters are not ours.**

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**Chapter 7 – He Just Broke the Game Wide Open**

Emmett could feel the weight of Rosalie's gaze as he slowly licked the back of his hand and sprinkled salt liberally over the wet swath of skin. Keeping his eyes averted, Emmett mopped up the granules with his tongue and then tossed back the tequila shot, his eyes closed against the harsh sting of alcohol and agave. On autopilot, he grabbed the lemon wedge and shoved it into his mouth, biting down on the flesh to take the edge off the salt and agave.

Then he pulled back his lips in an exaggerated smile, the yellow rind covering his teeth like an overgrown second grader.

Once finished, he flipped his shot glass upside on the table next to Rosalie's, which had already been drained. She was draped lazily across the edge of the table, one elbow propped on the battered wood surface for support, her face composed into what could only be described as a look of feigned innocence.

If there was any discomfort from the previous encounter, Rosalie hid it well, her laughter coming easily. "Okay, McCarty," she said, her lips puckering to form the McC sound in his name. "You named the game, so how are we going to play it? Five fingers or ten?"

The way she posed the question didn't particularly match the false piety of her expression. Emmett was quickly coming to realize that's the way things worked with Rosalie Hale – she never quite did what one would expect, and if he didn't pay attention, he could very well end up the butt of a joke. No wonder she and Garrett were so close.

"We're only on our first _real_ date, Hale. Do you really think that's an appropriate conversation?" He teased, knowing that she wouldn't be able to resist a tease like that.

He was right to wait for a response, because when she smiled at him, Emmett found that he could finally appreciate the term 'man-eater,' at least in the conceptual sense. There was no half-assing it where this woman was concerned. She would go toe-to-toe with anyone she deemed worthy of a challenge.

Somehow, he'd managed to fall into that classification, something that Emmett would never quite understand, but doubted he would ever regret.

"I just need to know how much you can…take, big guy," she said. There were crinkles around the corners of her eyes, betraying how hard she was fighting not to laugh or give him the upper hand.

"Oh sister, you are so going down," Emmett said, smiling so hard his cheeks practically hurt. Her gaze flickered down, focusing on his mouth for just a split second, betraying a chink in her armor. "You trust me to order? Anything _you_ can't handle?"

The question was met with an over-exaggerated shrug. "I've never met anything I can't handle, guys and raw food included."

"Now I get why Garrett was so far up my ass. This has the potential to be either epic or ugly." Emmett flagged down their waitress and placed their order, allowing Rosalie to marinate on the cryptic statement. He could see her out of the corner of his eye, trying to suppress a smile as he picked different things off the appetizer and raw bar menu. She wasn't the only one capable of pushing buttons, and he, for one, was ready to let off a little steam.

Once finished ordering, he passed the menu back to the waitress. Rosalie seemed surprised by this, her mouth open, ready to place her order.

She hadn't realized Emmett was ordering for both of them until the waitress was already in motion.

"But what about cra-"

"Sorry, Hale," he said, amused by her surprise. Rosalie acted like a guy had never gone out of his way to do the decent things before – open doors, order for both of them, doing something nice just because it was the nice thing to do. But he couldn't tip his hand on that just yet. "No way am I ordering anything that would put a wooden mallet in your hand. I don't care how incredible the snow crab feast thing is supposed to be."

"Chicken," she taunted.

"Of the sea, _Jessica_. And you can call me the rocket scientist who ordered a bunch of raw fish for you eat on a dare."

They were both quiet while Emmett re-filled their wine glasses. The shot of tequila had taken the edge of his nerves, but not the hum that had him on edge, fully aware of every gesture, every smile that Rosalie Hale bestowed on him. Any discomfort she might have felt in the previous moments was long gone now, replaced by the raging fire of flirtation and attraction that had blazed when she sat down across from him. Her feet, which had been withdrawn during the encounter with her ex, were back, wrapped securely around Emmett's left calf, one heel tapping playfully against the top of his right shoe. She had him locked in place and was completely focused on him, oblivious to anyone else in the room.

_Or maybe you are just hoping that_, a voice from somewhere deep down inside taunted him. _You've seen this play out before, you know how relationships work._

Maybe, but he was having none of that tonight.

As if sensing his internal turmoil, or perhaps discomforted by the silence, Rosalie tightened her ankles around his calf and pulled his leg forward, along with his attention. "You're a little obvious with all the raw food there, bub," she said, holding up her wine glass in salute. "Do you really think I'll go down that easy?"

He could tell by her expression that Rosalie was waiting for him to latch onto the 'go down' comment, but he wasn't going to make it that simple.

"Never have I ever underestimated Rosalie Hale," Emmett said, tapping his glass against hers.

"Oh please, I do that all the time," she said, and took a sip of wine. "Don't think you are going to get off easy. And yes, I said it like _that_."

"Hey, you're the one who set this precedent." Emmett placed his left hand on the table, spreading his fingers wide. Rosalie's eyes darted down to his hand, and he could swear she took a quick breath. He wasn't sure why it got a reaction out of her, but he catalogued it for future reference, happy to know he wasn't alone in the attraction department. "Two rounds of five, winner picks dessert."

Rosalie opened her mouth, but then she hesitated, her lips turning up into what could only be described as a very calculated smile. "Deal. Round robin, right?"

Before Emmett could answer, Rosalie placed her hand on the table, her thumb tucked underneath her palm to reflect that she was down, nine to his ten.

"Never have I ever gotten a tattoo," she said, sounding all too self-satisfied with the statement. The four fingers not folded under her palm drummed leisurely against the battered table top.

"Who doesn't have ink nowadays, but since I'm thirsty..." Emmett took a sip of wine, quickly running through a list of questions in his mind. "Never have I-"

"Oh no you don't!" Rosalie cut in. Her eyes flew over him, studying what little skin was exposed, as if trying to find a hint of a tattoo. "Details. Where, what, why?"

"Since when is twenty questions part of 'never have I ever?'"

"Since you have ink and I can't see it. Now spill," she demanded.

"Fine," he sighed, acting as if her demand was a great struggle for him. Placing his wine glass gently on the table, Emmett shrugged out of his jacket, struggling to get his arms free with the limited space between the slab of horizontal wood and a bench back. Once loose, he draped his jacket over the seat next to him and began rolling up the sleeve of his shirt. When the cuff was neatly folded back he turned his left arm over, and extended it, palm up, towards Rosalie. Peeking out from under the black crocodile leather band of his watch was a sharp point, etched in dark blue, splitting into two graceful arcs to form the top of an oval.

Rosalie gently clasped his wrist, and pushed at the leather band with her index finger. The watch hid a small Celtic knot, a single blue line creating the illusion of three half ovals, intertwined, united and endless.

"What's it represent?" she asked, her finger softly tracing the intricate loops in a slow, sweeping motion. It sent chills up the inside of Emmett's arm, just like the tickle games he and his sisters played as children.

"Al, Es and I got them last spring," he said, watching as she circled the pattern once again. "It was a sort of 'we always have each other' sort of thing."

"Al and Es are…" she asked as she continued to stroke the tender skin on his wrist.

"My sisters. Esme is my Irish twin – she's not quite eleven months older than I am. Alice is four years younger."

"What is it with guys and emotional connections to their family via tattoos?" she asked, her voice as soft as her touch. "Gar got one right before his mom died. Don't you guys believe in less traumatic things like donating in their name or maybe planting a tree?"

"All hail the grand gesture," Emmett said. It came off as dismissive, but it was as honest an answer as he could give without the context. Abuse, rehab, the three musketeers – this was a commitment they made to each other. One which was hard to explain and even harder to reveal. "And I guess that puts us at even."

"For now," she said, her eyes darting to the left. Their waitress approached, carrying two trays piled high with chilled shrimp, oysters on the half shell, and steamed mussels swimming in white wine and butter. They were quiet while she unloaded the food, darting surreptitious glances across the table each other, then smiling and glancing away when caught.

As soon as the waitress was gone, Rosalie launched herself at the food, grabbing an oyster and scooped a heaping mound of horseradish onto the soft grey belly. She doctored it with a liberal squeeze of lemon and a dash of Tabasco. "Never have I ever spit," she said, and tipped her head back. The oyster slid out of the shell and into her mouth in one long slow motion.

Emmett did the only thing he could do - took a large gulp of his drink. He had a feeling he was going to need it.

**-0-0-0-**

"You did not!"

"Swear to God," Emmett said, his hand raised, desperately trying to keep a straight face. "She wasn't going to take no for an answer!"

The game had progressed at a leisurely pace, decimating the first bottle of wine and all the food. Rosalie had flagged the waitress for a second before Emmett could even move, so not to be topped, he'd added on an order for another half dozen oysters. While his decision to play 'never have I ever' had been a complete whim, he was glad they'd taken the risk. Their conversation had bounced all over the place, moving from lighthearted to serious to innuendo laden banter without missing a beat. Laughter came easily, along with casual little touches and looks that could melt glaciers. Their feet were tangled together under the table while hands laced above. Fingers were constantly in motion over knuckles, the tips of nails, even the outline of a palm. The haughty reserve Rosalie had projected at their first meeting was gone, replaced by a warm glow that illuminated her from the inside out, drawing the attention of every man who passed their table.

It wasn't lost on Emmett that all this had happened because he had been the nice guy who swooped, planting a kiss on her and pretending to be her boyfriend. Best worst first kiss ever.

He poured the last of the wine into their glasses and then pushed the bottle to the side, smiling as two guys seated at the bar stared at him with clear envy. "Never have I ever kissed someone and regretted it."

"Oh!" Rosalie hiccupped, her hand flying up to cover her mouth. She started to giggle, and it quickly morphed into a full fit of laughter. The response wasn't what Emmett expected, but he sure wasn't going to let it go.

"Just for that, you have to drink and then you have to spill."

"Just for that, I _should_ drink," she said, dribbling a bit of the wine as she started laughing again. Her tong shot out to catch the bit of alcohol at the corner of her mouth, and Emmett had to resist the urge to wipe it away himself. "Sophomore year, Gar and I were drunk, and somehow…oh man, I don't know…" She waved her hand around, laughing and flustered and red in the face. "Somehow, for some reason that I still don't quite get, we kissed. Dude, the world _stopped_ because it was so, so, so incredibly wrong."

She started to laugh again, a deep, throaty sound that ended with a snort. It only made her laugh harder, and pulled Emmett along with her.

"I'm hoping you told him that," he said. Emmett knew Garrett well enough to anticipate his response. It wouldn't matter how much he did or didn't feel for Rosalie, Garrett would have been loud about any perceived rejection of slight on his masculinity. That's just how Garrett worked.

"Mr. Dramatic? Please! Wounded ego forever!" Rosalie dropped her voice, the tone still too high but the inflection perfect. "Chicks love me! Women want me! Are you sure you're not a lezbo Rosie? No one can resist Grade A me."

"Stop!" Emmett protested, gasping for air. His sides were starting to ache from laughing so hard. "I'm never going to look at him with a straight face again!"

There was a moment of awkward silence. When Rosalie spoke again, her voice was much more contained.

"At least you'll be able to look at him. Or me, for that matter." She dropped her head, her hair falling down to hide her eyes. "Most guys aren't so understanding of me and my choices."

She'd turned on a dime, rounding a corner into a dark place filled with regret or doubt. This, Emmett could understand. He'd heard it more times than he'd cared to admit. From his mom, from Alice, even from Esme. He'd always tried to reassure them, to prove to them that the self-loathing and second guessing weren't worth it. He'd never managed to make them believe.

But this, well, this time it would be different. With his family, he'd been constrained, his actions colored by the family connection. That wasn't the case here, and for once, Emmett realized he really could do something that would make an impact that went beyond saying 'it will be okay.'

Bracing a hand on the table, Emmett half stood, leaning slowly toward Rosalie. She looked up in surprise, her blue eyes wide and a bit confused. A long strand of blonde hair clung to her eyelashes.

_How many times had guys pulled away from her once they got close_, Emmett wondered. _And how could they have missed out on all this?_

"I'm not most guys," he said, using his index finger to hook the strands of hair and drape it behind her ear. "Remember, I have that fatal flaw of being _nice_."

"Nice is a four letter word, you know."

"Don't let anyone know, 'kay? It's kind of like Superman and his secret identity. I have a rep to protect as the mild-mannered newspaper reporter."

Rosalie smiled. Just like the sudden meeting with Edward, she turned a corner and whatever plagued her slipped away.

"Never have I ever kissed someone in the middle of a restaurant," she said, her voice still low. Just like Emmett, she braced her hands on the table, bringing herself to eye level and bumping her nose against his. It brought back another flash of childhood, and he bumped his nose against hers in return, a clumsy Eskimo between two people slowly finding their way.

When she kissed him, her lips were warm; butter and horseradish mingling together with the wine on her tongue.

They stayed like that for a long time, kissing in the middle of a crowded restaurant, using a table for balance as the world floated by, and Emmett didn't care who was watching. All he knew was that he wanted more. More and more and more. Even then it wouldn't be enough.

"Houston, we have a problem," Rosalie said when they finally broke apart. Her pupils were dilated, maybe from their kiss, but it could have very well been from the alcohol, too.

"What's that, Miss Hale?"

"It's zero zero, and you promised me dessert. _Now_ what do we do?"

_Get the hell out of here_ would have been Emmett's first answer, but it didn't seem like the right thing to say. He glanced at his watch. It was only nine. Way too early to call it a night.

"Come on," he said, waving his hand at the waitress. Earlier in the evening he'd passed her his credit card, a move Emmett picked up in childhood from his father. She was quick on her feet, delivering a faux leather folder containing his receipt and a pen, which he signed with his usual exaggerated flourish.

When he finished, Emmett stood and slipped on his jacket, then extended his hand. "You up for a little game?"

She slowly slid out of the booth, grasping Emmett's fingers before standing up. Her height still caught him off balance, so that when he pulled Rosalie against him, Emmett wasn't quite sure which way to lean. Every other woman had always tucked neatly into his side, so that his chin came to rest on the girl's head. But Rosalie surprised him, slipping her arm around his waist, her cheek resting naturally against his shoulder.

"Just be warned," she said softly. "I am a _very_ sore loser."

"What happens if I let you win?" Emmett asked. Rosalie didn't answer, but her breath was warm against his neck and her fingers were pressed against his back in a manner he liked to think of as…possessive. It was all the answer Emmett needed. "Come on, Hale. Let's see those moves."

They walked arm in arm out of the Crab Pot, and turned down a long narrow corridor that led past a number of tourist traps offering cheesy t-shirts, vacuum-packed smoked salmon, and every sort of pirate gear known to man. They continued, just past the garishly lit stores with their upbeat music, the computerized beeps and chimes of games mixed with older, more genteel calliope music and laughter. It hadn't been part of the plan to bring Rosalie here, but now, as they walked down the dingy hallway, his arm wrapped securely around her shoulders; it seemed like the most brilliant idea in the world.

"What do you want to do first?" he asked when they cleared the entry into the arcade. "Air hockey? Basketball?"

Rosalie slowly pulled away, her hand hooking in the pocket of his jacket. "Follow me, McCarty. I have a date with nine wooden balls and a boatload of tickets."

**-0-0-0-**

"I can't believe you hustled me."

"I didn't hustle you," Rosalie said between bites of taffy. "I just didn't give you all the information you needed, and you happened to be easily distracted. What kind of reporter are you, anyway?"

"I'm a fabulous sports reporter," Emmett said, buffing his knuckles against his shirt. "I have the awards to prove it."

"Yeah, well, in the investigative realm you're more magpie, less Woodward and Bernstein. They'd never be distracted by the first bright and shiny that caught their attention." She tugged on the piece of taffy, stretching it out, and then slowly twisting it around her finger. When it was coiled in neatly, Rosalie used her teeth to scrape it off. "Gotta keep your eye on the prize, Mr. McCarty."

"Maybe I was." He definitely was, and also trying not to say or do a thousand different inappropriate things.

"You'd have to throw better than a one sixty at skeeball to win this," she said, smiling down at the spoils of her rapid fire skeeball assault. They'd played for exactly thirty minutes, during which time Rosalie had alternated between hitting forty or fifty on every pitch and doing every little thing she could to knock Emmett off his game. There had been hip checks, overly-dramatic slow motion descents to retrieve the wooden balls, which reminded him of the bend and snap from that Reese Witherspoon movie about law school. When Emmett had started to warm up, she even went so far as to sneak up and plant a kiss just behind his ear.

Normally, Emmett wouldn't have gone down without a fight, but being humiliated in skeeball was entirely worth it, if it meant he got to watch Rosalie like this. She'd opened up a giant strip of taffy and was meticulously picking it apart in two inch pieces. Once the piece of candy was free, she would squish it between her fingers, making it warm and pliable, and then play with it, slowly devouring it bite by slow bite. Hard to believe it was only cheap taffy, but if she wasn't complaining, then why should he.

"So you were a Carnie in a previous life, huh?" he guessed, snorting when Rosalie rolled her eyes dramatically. "Can you guess my age and weight within a certain percentage of error?"

She sucked a gob of taffy off her thumb, the corners of her eyes crinkling in amusement. "You outted yourself in your column. You're thirty-three. As for weight…" she leaned to the side, taking a long, exaggerated sweep of his body. Then she reached out to wrap her hands around his bicep, squeezing hard. "Two hundred and twenty pounds of solid muscle."

"Now you're flirting."

"Are you complaining?"

Emmett didn't miss the way Rosalie brought another bite of candy to her mouth just after posing the question, slowly sucking the sticky mass of taffy off her finger.

"I don't know, are you all tease or do you put something behind it?"

There was a protracted silence as Rosalie chewed. When she stood, her smile reminded him of the night at the bar when he'd called her sweetheart. She was up to something. The question was, would it be good or bad for him?

"Never have I ever…" Rosalie cooed, drawing out the words to maximum effect. She placed her hand on his chest, her fingers splayed out across the black cotton of his shirt. "Kissed Emmett McCarty in a photo booth."

Emmett caught her by the wrist, preventing Rosalie from pulling away. They were standing at a precipice, and he didn't want to let the moment go by without being completely honest. It was the only way he'd ever be able to keep up with her.

"Before we go there," he said, ducking his head so that he could hold her gaze, "Never have I ever met anyone like you."

The lights from the arcade behind them cast long shadows over Rosalie's face, sharpening her features. Emmett couldn't imagine ever getting tired of this: the snappy give and take, the constant laughter, and the magical bubble of _this_ that wrapped around them. Never had a woman pushed him so far, made him work for every laugh and smile, but it had become effortless to the point where he didn't want to imagine not doing it at all.

"So is this where you ask me to be your girlfriend, or will someone be slipping me a note in homeroom tomorrow?" She glanced up at him quickly, her smile mischievous. Rosalie was clearly waiting for some sort of smart ass come back, but Emmett decided to go for something much better than that.

He caught her wrist before she could pull away, and she adjusted so their hands could knit together. This time, when he kissed her, there was no hesitation, no worry about how she might respond or how far was _too_ far. Whatever invisible line might have been drawn previously had since been washed away, leaving a completely unlimited opportunity.

Following his lead, Rosalie relaxed against him, her body soft and warm against his chest. Emmett brought his free hand to the back of her head, gently digging his fingers into her hair. He didn't so much hear as _feel _the intake of breath, and then her arms were around his waist, slipping up under his jacket, and then under the tail of his untucked oxford. Her cool fingers pressed against the small of his back, dangerously close to the waistband of his jeans.

"Fu…" he cut himself off, the obscenity so completely inappropriate and yet so spot-on to his reaction. Emmett was caught between very much liking this woman and really wanting to convince her to come home with him – and he knew that pursuing the latter would completely hose the former. He couldn't recall a time in his life when he'd ever been so incredibly attracted to anyone physically, and that was only one small part of this bigger equation.

When they pulled apart, Rosalie's breathing as labored as his own. Her cheeks were flushed, and she wore a sheepish, shell-shocked grin that must have matched the one stretching across his face.

"You're dangerous," she said, her voice husky.

"You're addictive," he countered. "It makes me want to throw _nice_ right out the window."

"If you lose nice, what's left?" Rosalie's gaze was fixed directly on his mouth, and Emmett took it as an invitation, swooping back in to kiss her again, his hand still pressed firmly against the back of her head.

He didn't want to let go.

"Attention patrons," a disembodied voice echoed over the loud speaker. "The arcade will be closing in fifteen minutes. Please finish up your games and cash in your tickets now."

"What if I don't want to cash in my tickets," Emmett said against Rosalie's neck. He could feel her pulse hammering against his lips, the scent of lemon-verbena swirling around them. "I'm not ready for this to be over."

Rosalie laughed a low, throaty rumble that felt good against his cheek. "Come on, I want my picture. And we can always come back here some other time."

"That means I get a second date, then?" he asked, planting another kiss against her neck. "Or are you going to make me work for that, too?"

Rosalie broke free, her hand trailing along his body, then hooking an index finger around his pinky so she could tug him along.

"Come on, you big flirt. There's a curtain on the photo booth. You can do more of what you were doing in there." She walked slowly backwards, her lower lip caught between her teeth in the weakest attempt at feigned innocence ever. When Emmett launched forward she squealed, spinning around and running for the photo booth with him hot on her heels.

**-0-0-0-**

That night, back in his condo, Emmett lay, stretched out on the couch, a poorly colored photo strip clutched in his left hand.

Four small rectangular panels of him and Rosalie together - laughing, kissing and hamming it up for the camera. In one, his face was buried in the crook of her neck, and she was laughing, her eyes squeezed shut in delight. In another, they were oblivious to the lens, lips locked, eyes closed, the indentation in Emmett's check washed out from overexposure.

They'd sat though two sets of pictures, the second coming when Rosalie refused to tear the strip in half, insisting she didn't want to part with any of the photos.

With the arcade closing, and the effects of the alcohol long worn off, Emmett couldn't come up with any other reason to convince Rosalie to stay out in the cold. They'd stood, pressed up against her car, kissing until their lips were sore and swollen, dragging out the reasons to say goodbye. When she finally started shaking from the cold, and no amount of body heat could ward it off, Emmett had kissed Rosalie gently goodbye, and thanked her for giving him a chance. Then he'd walked home, letting the brisk night air attempt to cool him down.

It hadn't worked. He absolutely, could not stop thinking about Rosalie Hale.

It was insane.

The ding of his email pulled Emmett out of his stupor. He reached over to grab his laptop off the coffee table, and flicked his finger over the track pad to deactivate the screensaver.

One new email.

_Mac – _

_Just wondering how things went with Bird…._

_I'm too amped up to sleep. Sitting at a 24 hour coffee shop, drinking decaf and hoping it will calm me down._

_The view from the top of the horse is scary, but it sure as hell is pretty. Oh, and not thinking is one hell of a rush. How's that for a cliché?_

_Hope you had a good night._

_Lily_

Emmett smiled at the name 'Bird.' He didn't know how Rosalie would feel were he to slip up and call her that, but in a lot of ways, the nickname fit. She was fast and fierce and smart and beautiful, and she forced him to stay on his toes constantly, which was by no means a bad thing.

Propping the laptop on his stomach, he closed his eyes, trying to figure out how to summarize his date for Lily. It had exceeded - no - it had eclipsed every one of his expectations. Emmett had gone into the evening knowing that he liked Rosalie's company, and that he was attracted to her, but the way everything had snapped into place – that had been completely different and unexpected.

He'd never expected things to feel so… easy. The laughing, the teasing, the quick back and forth, those were the things he missed about his interactions with his family. It's why he'd become such good friends with Garrett, and it was a part of him that no other woman had ever really been comfortable with or taken the time to understand.

That said, acknowledging the zing that existed between the two of them scared Emmett a little bit too. He'd watched, firsthand, as his parents lived through the same thing; the desperation of wanting someone so badly that they never stopped to think what damage they caused or who they hurt. Esme had insisted once, that when Emmett fell in love, he would understand how his parents could be so destructive, and why it had been so easy for her to forgive them once she reached that place too.

Pushing the thoughts about his family aside, Emmett clicked reply. He was tired, and the adrenaline was wearing off, so he didn't over think, he just typed.

_Lil – _

_What to say about the bird…remember that line where Annie talks about quantum physics, molecular attraction, and timing? It's sort of like that – the attraction is epic, earth shattering even (on more than just a physical level, although there is that added bonus too)._

_At the end of the day, I think we'll either kill everyone in a two mile radius or make something really damn beautiful. Right now I am cautiously optimistic for the latter._

_Tell me about your night. Is he a keeper? He knows that if he messes with you, I will personally show up and kick his ass six ways to Sunday, right? What can I say, it's the big brother in me, I can't stand it if any of my girls gets hurt. You are officially grandfathered into the fold, which means I have to look out for you, you know._

_Now go home and get some sleep. And wipe the smile of your face, will you?_

_Mac_

Emmett hit send, and then toggled over to another tab to do a final check of ESPN. He was about to close his laptop for the night when email dinged again.

_M – _

_I will if you will. I can 'hear' that goofy grin._

_Sleep well, heartbreaker, and dream of nuclear fission._

_L_

_

* * *

_

**Thank you to Lightstardust, who encourages, eggs, and reins in our too long sentences.**


	8. Have You Met The Man?

**Chapter 8 – Have You Met The Man?**

One moment. Sometimes that was all it took to change a course of a day, a week, a relationship, even a life.

Rosalie was familiar with the phenomenon. She'd seen it happen to Garrett and Kate, had experienced it with Edward when they'd collided in the most literal sense. It was that one moment, the instantaneous _something _where it felt like the universe snapped its fingers and suddenly you were on a different path, standing somewhere completely new.

Sometimes, though, it wasn't just one moment. Sometimes it was a series of events that gently nudged two people in a new direction. It was subtle, measured – a chain of phone calls or emails, coffee dates and secret smiles across tabletops, laughter and conversation that never seemed to end. It wasn't a bang, but a whisper: _Just wait. You'll see it soon. _

She'd always expected the lightning bolt; it was all she knew. But what was happening between her and Emmett had been revealed to her slowly. The moments they'd shared leading up to their first date were seemingly innocuous alone, but weighted and full of meaning when layered one on top of the other. They had been setting the foundation for what was growing between them now, and she realized that she'd needed it to be this way. A slow, careful bloom that gave her solid ground to stand on, that assured her that this was real.

She hadn't known just how good slow could be until him.

That wasn't to say that _everything _moved at that pace. The banter between them was quick, nonstop. He spoke smartass as fluently as she did and she loved seeing how far she could push him, what he would take and give back in return. He made her blood and heart and breath rush swiftly through her body, pulsing an energy into her that made her feel like she was electric, alive. Likethey were those things together.

But when he pressed her up against her car door after their date – one that would go down in the history books for her – it _was_ slow. He took his time. His mouth got to know hers with lingering lips and taffy-sweetened tongue. His hands met the slope of her hips and the small of her back, the strands of her hair. But it was "I want to know you here…and here" rather than "Your place or mine?"

She knew by the laughter and the ease with which he'd slipped into the spot she hadn't even known was ready to be filled, by the way he looked at her and talked with her and actually listened to her, that he didn't just want to know her body. He wanted to know the other parts of her, too – mind _and_ body, possibly even heart. She wasn't used to that, to a man wanting to know the truth of her. But it seemed that he wanted to and god, it scared her how much she wanted that, too.

She thought of Mac's molecular attraction comment every time she talked to or saw Emmett, which was ridiculously often. They talked on the phone or texted every day and met up for coffee at the Starbucks that she now thought of as theirs. He'd even come to her office a few times to take her out to lunch. Gianna's jaw had nearly unhinged itself completely when Rosalie had waltzed into the reception area to meet him. As Emmett's schedule evened out with the end of the baseball season, they eagerly found more pockets of time to see one another.

After a particularly hands-on experience at the batting cages a week later, Rosalie sent Mac a message that contained only a picture of a nuclear cloud. No words required. She knew Mac would get it – he had his bird, his own force of nature to contend with. In a way, it made her feel better knowing she wasn't the only one dealing with the crazy cyclone of feelings that came with a new relationship. Mac was there with her, right beside her in spirit if not in body.

Needless to say, when he wrote her back, it wasn't with words but a picture that rivaled her own – a huge storm cloud with lightning bolts running through it like electric veins, illuminating everything. She laughed out loud, knowing exactly what that felt like, and responded with a picture of an erupting volcano.

Their exchange went on like that for nearly a week – no words, just pictures that followed the pattern of extraordinary and explosive natural events. He'd even sent her a picture of a skydiver pitching out of a plane, a euphoric smile stretched across his wind-distorted face.

It was all very tongue-in-cheek, playful, but these images were chosen with purpose. They explained what she and Mac were going through in ways she wasn't sure words would be able to describe, showing that this was all beyond their control, scary in a way but also beautiful, exhilarating. Natural.

Rosalie had just gotten home from dinner and a movie with Emmett on Friday night, two weeks after their first date, and bounded past a sprawled-out Garrett and Balthazar on the couch. They both raised their heads, peering at her curiously.

"Oh, hey Rose, is that you? I've forgotten what you look like," he called out. "All I see is the back of you these days."

Rosalie backtracked, poking her head into the living room and sweeping her hand down the front of her Vanna White-style. "Here you go. The front's just as nice."

Garrett tsked, his chin tucked against his chest, his hands resting just below that. "And she's modest, too, ladies and gents."

She pressed her middle finger to her lips and blew him a kiss before nodding to the space Balthazar wasn't taking up. "Where's Kate?"

"Working late," Garrett sighed. Kate was an associate at a small, family-run litigation law firm. Her schedule wasn't nearly as insane as it would have been had she been at some mega-firm in the city (they'd offered; she refused), but occasionally she had to work late, which tended to throw Garrett into an emo tailspin.

Rosalie was beginning to understand that feeling, though she wouldn't admit it to Garrett. Most of her minutes and hours and days had Emmett in them in some capacity now. When he was absent, she felt it.

"Aw, you can survive without her for a few hours," she teased, but the words were soft. She usually gave him way more shit about his Kate-related moping, but she didn't have the same energy inside her to make it sound quite as sarcastic as it normally would have.

Garrett noticed, his eyebrows drawing down and then up. "Says the girl who's been spending every waking moment with her new dude."

"You know I can't take you seriously right now," Rosalie replied, gesturing to the television. "You're watching _Varsity Blues_."

Garrett waved her off, slouching further into the couch. "Fuck off. You're a snob when it comes to sports movies. Let me enjoy Ali Larter's whipped cream bikini in peace, okay?"

Rosalie rolled her eyes and turned on her heel. "Annie Savoy would never," she muttered under her breath.

"Hey, how was your date?" Garrett asked.

She looked over her shoulder, eyebrow raised. "How do you know I wasn't working late?"

He leveled her with a look. "You wouldn't be skipping down the hall radiating sunshine and unicorns if you were working late." He paused. "Plus, Emmett told me you were going to a movie. _He _gives up the goods."

He certainly did. Rosalie could still feel his thumb tracing nonsensical patterns around her kneecap, the pressure of his lips on hers, the way the five o' clock shadow along his jaw and cheek rubbed against her skin. They'd sat in the back row of the theater, he with his feet propped up on the seat in front of him and she with her heels kicked off, the armrest between them pulled up so she could nestle into his side. She wouldn't have been able to explain the premise of the movie if a gun was put to her head.

"It was good," she replied, a smile spreading slowly across her face. "Very good."

Garrett rolled his eyes, but he was grinning, too.

Balthazar hopped off the couch, ignoring Garrett's pleas for him to keep him warm, and followed Rosalie into her bedroom. She was still keyed up from her date and went immediately to her desk, opening and turning on her laptop. She was itching to see Mac's latest picture.

She opened her email and saw that familiar alert. She rested her chin in her hand, smiling to herself when she saw that he'd gone back to words.

_Lil – _

_Thanks to you, I've been laughing my ass off for days. I can't check my phone at work anymore - people are starting to think I'm batshit. I sang "Having a Blast" in the shower yesterday. This morning it was "You Dropped a Bomb on Me." Notice a pattern there? _

_You're only partly to blame, though. Between you and what Bird's doing to me, I look like a complete jackass. I don't think I could wipe this grin off my face if I wanted to (for the record, I don't)._

_And because I can practically see that smile of yours from wherever you are, looks like we're in this jackass thing together. Feels good, doesn't it? _

_Mac_

She clicked on "reply," her fingers flying easily over the keyboard.

_Mac – _

_For what it's worth, I'm glad I'm in it with you, although I don't think they call it "jackass." Strange that we don't know each other's real names…or any of the usual vital stats, for that matter. We might be the most well acquainted strangers on the planet. _

_I must say I'm a little disappointed you cried uncle with our special pictorial version of story time. I had a good one – there's this BBQ place not far from where I live called Dixie's. I haven't been there in a long time, but they have this obscene hot sauce called "The Man." When the owner was alive, he'd wander around the restaurant with a saucepan full of it, asking if you wanted to meet The Man. My friends and I used to go there and dare one another to slather our BBQ with it. I can't tell you how many meals I ate there with tears running down my face. They sell a bumper sticker that says "I met The Man at Dixie's BBQ," which I was planning on sharing a picture of at some point. It would've been a little local Seattle flavor for you. _

_Anyway, you got to hear the story regardless, even without the visual aid. It's a little different from volcanoes and nuclear clouds and skydiving, but The Man always kept my chest warm hours after I had it. It's not unlike the feeling my guy gives me. Or at least I think I can call him mine at this point. _

_Ugh, listen to me. I'm in deep. And, you know what? That feels better than good. _

_Lil _

For the first time ever with Mac, she hesitated before she hit send. She was revealing so much of herself and she wondered for a moment if it was _too _much. But she trusted him with all of this and so she took a deep breath, traced her finger on the track pad until the arrow was right over the send button. There was a soft click and then her words were gone, making their way back to him.

**-0-0-0-**

There was a knock at the front door at noon on Saturday. Rosalie ran for it with Balthazar at her heels, staying on the balls of her feet so Emmett wouldn't hear the rushed cadence of her step from the other side of the door.

When she flung it open, however, he was smirking. "I heard you running."

Her cheeks warmed as she pressed her knee against the doorjamb, effectively boxing Balthazar in behind her. He had a tendency to be overly friendly when he first met people, the irony of which didn't escape her. Dogs were supposed to take after their owners, but while Rosalie was a slow thaw, Balthazar melted as soon as anyone started petting him.

"I was running for the food," she replied, reaching for the bag in his hands. He handed it over and crouched down so that he was eye level with Balthazar, though his gaze remained on Rosalie for a long, delicious moment. His grin widened and she bit her lip to contain hers, but it stretched across her face anyway. "Okay, fine, maybe a little bit for you, too."

"Well, it _has _been what, 18 hours since you've seen me?" he teased.

She rolled her eyes. "Whatever, who called who this morning begging for a lunch date?"

Emmett winked and flashed his dimples, which did funny things to her knees, then wrapped a gentle hand around the one that was barricading Balthazar, which did even funnier things to the rest of her. She could feel the warmth of his hand through her jeans, felt the light pressure of his fingers on the back of her knee, that sensitive skin that tingled whenever he kissed her.

"C'mon, let him go. He's dying to meet me," he replied. Balthazar looked up at her with pleading eyes, letting out a low whine for good measure. She snorted but let Emmett guide her leg away from the door. Balthazar shot past her and stuck his nose in Emmett's face, his tail hitting Rosalie's thigh in a frantic beat.

"Don't get too confident there, McCarty." Rosalie watched with open amusement as Balthazar sniffed Emmett's jean pockets in search of treats. "He's a total slut for attention."

Emmett looked back at Balthazar, running his hands briskly along his sides. "You're not a slut. _You_, my friend, are huge."

"He's big, even for his breed." Rosalie reached down to rake her fingers along the fur just in front of Balthazar's tail, his favorite spot. Sure enough, his back leg left the ground, scratching at the air. "Overachiever."

"That makes two of us, huh?" Emmett said to the dog, who was now panting happily, his tongue lolling out the side of his mouth.

"Try three." He glanced up, eyebrows raised. "I hit 5'9 in ninth grade."

"6'5 by tenth," he replied with a smile. She could picture him, head and shoulders above everyone else, as he walked down his high school's hallway. She wondered if he'd always held himself with such grace or if he'd gone through an awkward phase trying to adjust to his new body. It was hard to picture that looking at him now, crouched low with an easy smile on his face, his shoulders hunched forward but loose. There was a subtle confidence that just rolled off of him. She couldn't imagine him without it.

"Hmm, I'm sensing a pattern. Guess I like big guys," she responded, her tone dropping flirtatiously.

His grin widened and she recognized the playful twinkle in his eye. "It probably has something to do with those ankle-breaking heels you wear. You tower over most guys."

"That's not an accident, you know. Kate dubbed them my 'fuck you' pumps."

He let out a laugh, warm and resonant, as his eyes traveled down her legs to her bare feet. With one last distracted pat to Balthazar's belly, he stood to his full height, stepping closer. "That seems pretty on point."

"Only in certain situations," she replied, raising an eyebrow at him. He laughed and she smirked, remembering that first night they met. "And not lately."

"No?"

She shook her head, a wayward strand of hair falling into her eye. She took him by the elbow, moving him until he was fully inside so that she could shut the door. She was so distracted by how close he was that she nearly shut it on Balthazar's head. He shot her a petulant look, then trotted off to the living room.

Emmett moved closer still, his mouth soft and upturned, until she felt the soft material of his gray t-shirt against the hand that was holding their lunch to her chest.

"So what are they now?" he asked, hooking her hair with his finger and moving it behind her ear.

Rosalie leaned into his touch, her breath faltering slightly. She cleared her throat to cover the sound and shrugged with feigned innocence, tracing the Nike Swoosh on his shirt. "My 'makes it easier to kiss you' heels."

"And what if I want to kiss you now?"

Rosalie stood on her tiptoes, her free hand moving to rest at the nape of his neck. "Ta-dah."

"I'm taking this as an invitation," he warned.

She met his gaze steadily, one corner of her mouth pulling up into a challenging smirk, mirroring his. "I meant it more as a demand."

"Yes, ma'am."

When his mouth met hers, she leaned into him, let her knees and hips and chest make contact with him. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she heard the _scrunch _of the paper bag that was now trapped between them, but then he gently, teasingly caressed her tongue with his and all coherent thought left her, moving out of her body with her shaky exhale of breath.

"Lunch," she managed to get out when they finally came up for air.

"Lunch?" he repeated, his eyes heavy, arms wrapped tightly around her waist.

"I think we ruined it." She pried the bag out and held it up. Emmett's mouth twisted thoughtfully, taking in its squished state.

"Worth it," he finally determined. She let out a huff and he laughed, placing a kiss on her forehead before releasing her and grabbing the food. "They're just sandwiches. They'll bounce back."

"Want me to show you around before we eat?"

He nodded, looking around. "No Garrett and Kate?"

"They went downtown for lunch. They won't be back for a while," she replied.

She took him through the house, all too aware of how close he was the entire time, the most-likely-decimated bag of food cradled in one arm. He placed his hand on the small of her back in the kitchen when he squeezed between her and the table to check out the backyard and the grill Garrett had spent three agonizingly annoying weeks researching before finally making up his mind. His fingers brushed against the back of her hand when she showed him her room, his chest grazing hers. She held her breath watching him move around her space, wanting to see everything through his eyes, wondering what he was thinking.

When Emmett stopped in front of her desk, her eyes lingered on her phone sitting there. She wondered briefly if Mac had written her back – her inbox had been empty when she woke up this morning – but then Emmett turned around and fixed her with a grin and she forgot about everything else but him.

They made their way back to the living room and Emmett unloaded the food while Rosalie grabbed Cokes from the fridge. Balthazar was doing the dog version of the "I really have to pee" dance at the back door. She opened the door for him, smiling as he bounded outside, kicking up leaves in his path.

She left the dog to his business, knowing he could entertain himself out there for hours if he wanted. She strolled back to the living room just as Emmett started to sit down on the couch, their meal spread out before him.

"I wouldn't sit on that side if I were you," she warned him, eyebrow raised.

He paused, halfway between sitting and standing. "Why?"

"I think that's the approximate spot where Garrett and Kate had sex."

Emmett shot up, his hands held up in front of him. "Dude, what?"

"Oh yeah, I walked in on them a couple of weeks ago," she continued, shuddering at the visual that would never fully be erased. "Mid-fuck. I saw ass and..." Her hand made circles in the air while she tried to find the right word. "Thrusting."

He choked on a laugh, his cheeks blooming with color. "Wow, party foul, Adams."

"Tell me about it."

"I'm surprised Garrett didn't," he replied, looking sideways at the couch.

"Well, it wasn't his proudest moment. But hey, now you can give him shit about how he used that throw pillow to hide his junk."

Emmett turned, his gaze going down to the offending pillow. His head tilted as he picked it up and it wasn't until he turned back around that Rosalie saw the mischief in his eyes and smile. "_This_ pillow?"

"Emmett," she stated, her tone deadly serious as she pointed at him. She started backing away while he advanced, circling the large coffee table slowly.

"Rosalie," he singsonged with an angelic smile.

"If you touch me with that pillow, I swear…" She faked a left, letting out a bark of victory when he fell for it, and speed-walked for the other side of the table. His ridiculously long legs made up for his mistake, though, covering the distance so quickly that she almost ran right into him. She spun on her heel, off-balance, and ricocheted off the couch.

"Go ahead and finish that thought, Hale," Emmett said, his tone playfully mocking. "You swear…"

"I swear that you're going to die. I'm not kidding."

Emmett jerked the pillow forward and Rosalie let out a shriek, darting out of the way and covering her face. It wasn't until she heard Emmett's delighted laughter that she realized the pillow was still in his hands, not on its way to hitting her in the face.

"How old are you, five?" she asked through her own laughter. They were still on opposite sides of the coffee table, Emmett closest to the couch now. He held the pillow in front of him like a shield and if she hadn't already been breathless from running around, she would have been from the smile on his face.

"Twelve on a good day," he replied easily, though his grin turned wicked. "Legal when I need to be, though."

Her gaze raked over him, her heart racing only partly from their little game of cat and mouse, then moved to determine the best path to take him down. If she moved quickly enough, she'd have the element of surprise on her side. She inched to the right, feigning nonchalance as Emmett's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Put down the pillow."

"But then I won't have any ammunit -"

He stopped short as she darted around the table and wrapped her arms around his waist, tackling him onto the couch. He landed with an "oof" and a startled laugh, his hand going to the back of her head protectively. She grinned down at him, trying to find the air that she'd knocked out of her lungs (and probably his along the way).

They were most definitely now lying on the spot where Garrett and Kate had gotten it on, but Rosalie suddenly didn't care. She was exactly where she wanted to be.

"This couldn't have worked out any better," Emmett said. She felt his fingers against the small of her back seconds later, grazing skin at the base of her spine where her shirt had ridden up, and she shivered against him, burrowing closer. His heart was beating fast and hard against his ribs, mingling with the pounding of hers.

"Was this your plan the whole time? To get me on top of you?"

He grinned, pushing back the curtain of hair that had fallen over them. She felt like they were in their own little golden world, shut out from everything. "Always."

"You talk a big game for such a gentleman," she said, dipping her head to the place where his jaw curved up to his ear and kissing it softly, slowly. When she pulled back, he met her gaze and then dropped it to watch his thumb graze her bottom lip.

"No rush, right?"

"Right." Her reply was muffled by his lips and she melted into him, let her knee fall between his legs and her hands tangle into his hair and then she let go, let him take control. She let the moment and him and what was happening between them carry her away.

Outside, there was a sudden cacophony of birds calling out. Rosalie ignored the disturbance at first, too caught up in the feeling of Emmett and his wandering hands and attentive mouth, but then she felt his lips stretch into a smile and she pulled back, looking down at him.

"What's so funny?"

"Nothing," he replied, his eyes traveling slowly over her face. She stilled when his hand reached up to trace the contour of her cheekbone, along her jaw, back up to her mouth. "Just the birds."

"They're ridiculous, but you get used to them."

He grinned up at her, a secret smile she couldn't figure out.

She thought fleetingly of Mac and his bird, of her past life as a soaring one, and she knew exactly what it felt like to fly when Emmett's mouth found hers again.

This was heaven.

**-0-0-0-**

Seven hours later, Rosalie was most definitely in hell.

She heard the bathroom door swing open, the slap of bare feet against tile, and then a soft hand on her back.

"Don't you think you'd be more comfortable in your bed?"

Rosalie turned her head, groaning as a wave of dizziness rolled over her. Kate bent down, her face pinched with concern. "I'm not sure I can get back there."

Kate frowned, pushing a strand of hair from Rosalie's damp forehead. "Garrett will help you."

There were more footsteps and Garrett came into view, a worried smile on his face. "We've got you all set up with a barf bag and some 7-Up, Rosie. I think it's a better situation than your bathroom floor."

"Okay. I think I puked everything up anyway," she replied with a shiver, pressing her cheek against the cool tile.

"So that means you won't throw up on me if I pick you up, right?"

Kate smacked him. "Shut up and help her, please."

"I just like being prepared. It wouldn't be the first time she puked on me and I'd prefer advanced warning this time."

If she'd had the energy, Rosalie would've rolled her eyes. As it was, she could barely lift her arm to wrap around his neck as he scooped her up carefully. Another wave of dizziness swept over her, but her stomach stayed thankfully stable. There wasn't anything else it could have gotten rid of at this point.

"Only you would bring that up when I'm dying of food poisoning."

Garrett smiled, adjusting his grip so that she was tucked against his chest. "It was my favorite shirt."

"It was college and I saw you do so much worse."

Garrett gave her an admonishing frown. "Hey, cool it with the last words, Hale."

"She's already told me everything," Kate spoke up, walking ahead of them to usher Balthazar, who'd been lying in the doorway the entire time, out of the way.

"Always ganging up on me, ladies," Garrett sighed.

Kate was already at the bed, pulling back the comforter and sheets. "It's just because we love you."

Garrett set Rosalie down and she curled into the fetal position, pulling the covers up to her chin. It wasn't the first time he'd had to carry her to bed, but usually it was due to too much alcohol, not the after-effects of what she now knew was dinner gone very wrong.

After Emmett had gone home, Rosalie had checked her phone for messages from Mac. She was still euphoric from her afternoon with Emmett, her heart thumping fast but content in her chest after the goodbye kiss he'd given her in the driveway.

It had stopped altogether when she saw Mac's response.

_Lil - _

_Um, not only did I meet the man, I may have mouthed off to him. I got a spoon full on top of my pulled pork along with a wicked smile. Not gonna lie, he scared me._

_But you talk about Dixie's like you're a local - are you? The guy I work with (the asshole who took me and also goaded me into mouthing off) swears it's a locals-only thing, kind of like the Soup Nazi on Seinfeld. A heaping spoonful of the man might as well be a lifelong ban._

_Mac_

She'd had to read it four times to understand that Mac was saying he lived in Seattle. As in Seattle, _Washington_. As in the same city Rosalie lived in. She'd just always assumed that he was far away, somewhere tucked away on the east coast. To know that he was _here_, down the street for all she knew, completely disoriented her. Regardless of what happened from here, this changed things.

She'd been distracted while she made herself an early dinner (lunch had gone mostly untouched thanks to other activities). She'd pulled out some leftover grilled chicken and potato salad while she tried to formulate a response beyond, "holy shit."

With her brain in overdrive, she hadn't thought to check the use-by date on the potato salad. When Garrett and Kate got home, she'd settled in the living room with them to watch the news, initially brushing off the low-grade nausea to a nervous stomach. Her phone sat next to her, just waiting, but she didn't know what to say.

And then it had hit her. She'd only had food poisoning once before, but she recognized it immediately and spent the next hour in complete and utter misery while Garrett and Kate checked in on her regularly.

"You need anything?" Kate asked now, running a soothing hand up and down Rosalie's leg. Garrett perched on the bed behind Kate, resting his chin on her shoulder.

Rosalie shook her head. She wanted to be alone in her misery.

Garrett pulled back and wrapped his hand around Kate's shoulder. "Katie, should I call your sister and tell her to cancel the reservations?"

"No," Rosalie croaked out before Kate could respond. "I'll be okay, I swear. Don't change your dinner plans for me. Go out with Tanya, please."

"I don't want to leave you alone," Kate replied, frowning.

"I was joking about the dying. It's been downgraded to suffering." She pointed weakly to Balthazar, who was on the floor next to the bed, staring at her vigilantly. "Lassie here will sound the alarm if anything happens."

Both Kate and Garrett looked dubious, but they got up and made their way out of the room, leaving her there in the comfort of darkness. She fell into a fitful sleep, occasionally slipping back into consciousness to hear Balthazar's soft snores below her or Kate and Garrett getting ready, their quiet laughter drifting in through the crack in her door.

She woke up a bit later to the sound of deep, familiar voice. The roughened-silk edges of it moved over her as it got closer, made her tired body as alert as it could be given the circumstances. She heard the jingle of keys and then her room was bathed in soft light. Balthazar jumped up, startled.

"I heard you've got the plague," Emmett said, stepping inside.

Rosalie darted a murderous glare at Garrett. "You've got to be kidding me."

"What do you mean? I brought in reinforcements," Garrett said obliviously, clapping Emmett on the back.

Rosalie stared incredulously, first at her best friend and then at Emmett, the covers pulled up to her nose. It was one thing for Garrett and Kate to see her laid-up in bed with her hair everywhere, practically a Hazmat situation. It was something entirely different for Emmett to. Sure, she'd been showing him facets of herself that no one had seen in so long, if ever, but the last thing she wanted him to see was _this_.

Even as she thought this, though, her heart flipped at his gesture and the way he was looking at her with concern and affection, a half-grin quirked on his lips. It was as if he could see the progression of her mood from irritated to touched, and she lowered the comforter slowly, letting it rest just below her chin again. She watched silently as he moved further into the room and reached down to give Balthazar a quick pat as he passed by.

"So," Garrett drawled, rapping his knuckles against the doorjamb. "We're gonna go. You good?"

"We're good," Emmett replied for them, looking at Garrett over his shoulder. "Thanks for calling me, man."

Garrett nodded slowly, a thoughtful look on his face. He hadn't really seen them together since they'd started dating; it was probably obvious to him now just how much it had grown, how deep it was getting.

When Garrett had left with a totally unnecessary "don't do anything I wouldn't do," Emmett sat down on the bed next to her, a soft grin on his face.

"So, you came over to nurse me back to health," she stated, settling back against the pillow.

"My bedside manner is pretty epic," he replied. She laughed weakly and his grin widened at the sound. "I think you're in need of my services right now."

"Is that so?"

He nodded and reached down, pushing her hair back. His fingertips moved over her cheekbone and past her jaw, his hand finally resting at the juncture where her shoulder and neck met. She closed her eyes when his thumb started sweeping gently up and down her neck. The motion relaxed her instinctively, even as he trailed fire over her skin.

"I don't want you to see me like this," she admitted lowly. It was easier to say with her eyes closed.

"Like what? Sick?"

_Vulnerable. Weak. Makeup-less and kind of sweaty, _she thought. She didn't even want to think about her breath, though she'd tried to brush her teeth as best she could without throwing up again.

"Sick. Gross. Pale. Pick your poison."

"You still look beautiful to me," he replied simply.

She'd been given a lot of lines in her life, disingenuous words meant to engage her and make her fall, if not head over heels in love then at least into bed. They had all fallen on deaf (and annoyed) ears.

Because really, all it had taken was the truth. She could tell that he meant every word by the look on his face, by the way his thumb moved down over her collarbone because somewhere along the way he'd picked up that this soothed her. She was beautiful to him no matter what, even sick and sweaty, even when she'd been ugly to him that first night.

If she thought she was in deep before, he'd just pulled her in even further.

"Lay down with me?"

He hesitated, but just for a moment before he crawled carefully to the other side of the bed, positioning himself right behind her. She was both hot and cold and he laid his arm gently over the valley between her hip and ribs when she shivered.

His breath ruffled her hair. "All right, Hale, tell me where it hurts and I'll work my magic."

_It doesn't hurt anywhere now_, she thought, but she took his hand and placed it over her stomach.

"My mom used to rub my stomach like this when I was sick," he said, moving the hemline of her shirt up slightly. His palm touched her bare skin and started making slow, soft revolutions. "It always made me feel better."

She wished more than anything she'd ever wished for in her life that she wasn't sick, that she could enjoy his touch in a different way. As it was, goose bumps were erupting everywhere, from her scalp to the tips of her toes. But he was right – there was some kind of magic in the motion of his hand. She felt herself relaxing back against him and let her eyes close.

"Is this okay? It's not making it worse, is it?"

"So nice," she murmured sleepily, knowing that he'd understand the word meant more to her now. She could feel the warmth of his smile against the back of her neck.

When she woke up what seemed like hours later, she was freezing, her body shaking. She didn't feel sick anymore, but her stomach ached and burned like she'd done a thousand sit-ups.

Emmett stirred next to her. His hand had moved to her hip and he squeezed it gently. "You okay, babe?"

"Cold," she replied through chattering teeth.

"The blankets aren't helping?"

She already had five heaped on top of her. "I don't think so."

There was a pause and then she heard a soft rustling, the gentle clink of a belt being removed. A moment later, the covers moved back, pushing off of her. A rush of cool air touched her skin and she shivered again, letting out an irritated groan.

"Sorry," he whispered into the darkness. "I needed to get in."

He molded himself to her, his skin touching where hers was exposed – his chest against her shoulder blades where her tank top didn't cover her, their bare legs tangling together. It felt like he was burning against her and she sighed, needing the heat of him in this fundamental way.

"This is not exactly how I wanted to get you naked in my bed," she quipped weakly.

He laughed and she felt the vibration of it against her spine. "Wishful thinking much? I'm not naked."

"My diabolical plan didn't work then," she sighed.

"Tell you what, you can try again when you're better."

She smiled into her pillow. The cold was seeping out of her, replaced by a radiating heat from his body and words. "Don't leave tonight, okay?"

His grip tightened and she closed her eyes, already falling back asleep as he promised, "I'm not going anywhere."

* * *

**Sorry for the delay in getting this posted. LightStarDusting wielded her mighty beta powers with this. Extra special thanks to her. This story is, as always, for lookingforhoofprints. **

**See you next week!**


	9. That Play Took the Wind Out of His Sails

**Chapter 9 – That Play Took the Wind Out of His Sails**

If Rosalie was embarrassed by Emmett's appearance at her bedside, she'd recovered quickly, turning the tables in a move that could only be considered downright evil. Truth be told, he'd given her the fodder, and it had come from something completely innocent… and utterly humiliating.

All because of one simple physiological reaction which no man, let alone Emmett McCarty, had any way of controlling.

Natural human reactions weren't about to stop Rosalie. Oh no, not at all. For the last four days, Emmett had woken up to a text message – or three – full of jokes about Viagra, herbal remedies, and other 'once daily' references to 'natural male enhancement.'

He'd dished it back, assuring her that he needed zero help in the enhancement department, even going so far as offering to let her inspect the goods. It didn't stop her, and Rosalie kept right on going, dancing around him like Mohamed Ali while the jokes continued to fly.

Today's, though,_ today's _barrage took the cake.

The first text was a ridiculously juvenile joke - _Why do__nursing homes__give Viagra to their male patients?__To keep them from rolling out of bed._

The second had been pure Rosalie – _so it works like a kickstand, huh? I took that off my bike when I was ten._

"Damn morning wood," Emmett muttered under his breath. "It's perfectly natural to give a salute first thing in the a.m. But does she let me live that down? No."

He typed out a quick response – _I sleep on my back, so no rolling out of bed, nice try though -_ and hit send. Emmett did usually sleep on his back, sprawling out across his bed, but that was when he was alone. Sleeping with someone, well, not just _someone_ but Rosalie, in her bed, was different. He'd happily curled around her, sharing his warmth and coaxing her into sleep. Somewhere along the way, he'd relaxed enough to do the same, taking comfort in Rosalie's presence and enjoying probably the best sleep in a long time.

That was until the next morning, when he'd been jarred awake by Rosalie stretching. She'd pushed her very pert, very lithe body back against him just hard enough to elicit a groan. When she realized just exactly what she was rubbing against, Rosalie had giggled and slipped out of bed, moving toward the bathroom on shaky legs.

"I've got hand," she declared with a small smile, then pulled the door shut behind her.

It'd been just enough levity to allow them both to ease into the day, free from analyzing how things might have changed the night before. For a few days, Emmett was okay, but then he started to overanalyze and second guess. By the time Thursday rolled around, Emmett was irritable, so much so that when Garrett walked into the bullpen, he merely grunted a hello.

"What has you so pissy, pretty boy?" Garrett's question was accompanied by the typical smack of the newspaper across the head. He plopped down in the chair behind Emmett and propped his feet up on the desk, his smile not far off of the Cheshire Cat. "Haven't seen you at the house lately; guess you weren't good enough to be invited back?"

Garrett paused for dramatic effect before continuing, "Oh, wait, don't answer that."

Emmett shot him a dirty look, searching for some chink in the armor that would shut Garrett up. He'd been needling Emmett all week, taking cheap shots whenever an opening presented itself, and then withdrawing _just_ before he crossed the line.

Just when he was about to give up hope, Garrett shifted, crossing one ankle over the other. In doing so, he revealed a gaudy pair of black socks, the white keys of a piano running up and down each side. Instead of their usual ebony, the sharp keys were garish day-glo green, pink and orange.

_Hello opening_, Emmett thought. Garrett may dress like something out of a JCrew catalog, but the socks were always ridiculous and downright juvenile. He made a mental note to ask Rose what the deal was with him and socks, and if he'd always been this way. Then he launched in.

"Nice," Emmett said, tipping his head in the direction of Garrett's feet. "1984 called, they want their bad fashion back."

"Ha ha, so funny," Garrett replied airily. He tipped the chair back, lacing his hands behind his head like he didn't have a care in the world. "I live with the queen of snark – you've got a long way to go, grasshopper. Learn from the master."

"Hang on, I need to hit eBay and buy you the matching tie, maybe even a metal-studded bracelet."

"Have those. Parachute pants too. They make my ass look great," Garrett countered, his smile never wavering. Emmett tried to give him a dirty look, but it was lost when Garrett began to sing, the words a dull, lifeless monotone.

"I woke up this morning with a bad hangover, and my penis was missing again. This happens all the time. It's detachable."

The horrific singing was followed up by an impressive improvised drum solo using pencils and an empty Styrofoam cup. Garrett was clearly in his element, turning up the heat in payback for all the info Emmett had withheld in weeks past. This was retribution, plain and simple, dished out a la King Missile.

When his solo was complete, Garrett tossed the pencils on the desk and winked at Emmett. "Your embarrassment is my glory, big guy. Rosie and I bonded this morning while she solicited more boner jokes. Nothing like a stiffy with a good cuppa joe." Garrett stretched his arms over his head, grinning from ear to ear. "It's been _glorious_ to be needed again. You've knocked a big hole in my life, chuckles."

"That's the only big you'll ever get close to, Adams. And do I need to remind you _who_ orchestrated this whole thing?" Emmett let the words trail off, hoping that by insulting Garrett's manhood, he could end the constant barrage of jokes. "By the way, I understand when you got busted on the couch, all Rosalie could see were your pale white ass cheeks jiggling in the breeze. Maybe you should think about leaving the parachute pants _on_ for once."

Emmett hoped the barb would put him off, but Garrett was not to be deterred. Instead of lobbing another shot, Garrett simply swiveled in his chair and started to whistle the annoying Enzyte commercial theme.

_Loudly._

A woman a few desks over shot Emmett a questioning look, but he didn't respond - he simply shrugged his shoulders and leaned into his computer, trying to shut out the annoying song and the annoying co-worker. He needed to wrap up his column and get it to bed, but Garrett's needling, when combined with his own inability to string two sentences together had him facing a brick wall. He would write a few lines, reread, and then pound the backspace button, deleting the line and starting over. Why was it so hard for him to string together one cohesive thought today?

Emmett knew the answer, and he also knew he wasn't going to address it while Mr. Personality sat behind him, whistling his life away.

"I'm going to get coffee," Emmett said tersely. He stood so fast that his chair shot back across the bullpen to crash into Garrett's.

He didn't offer to bring anything back.

Avoiding the black sludge in the basement cafeteria, Emmett pushed through the glass double doors and turned north, taking in great gulps of cool fall air as he walked. He needed to clear his head and get a handle on whatever the hell this chaos inside of him was. He'd been spinning around in circles since leaving Rosalie's on Sunday, and it was starting to affect his ability to do his job. Hell, it was impacting everything. He couldn't see straight, and it was scaring the shit out of him.

Emmett was, for the most part, an easygoing guy. He'd learn to deal with the intermittent highs and lows pretty well, but when pushed or overly-frayed, he knew it was all too easy to snap. Those emotional outbursts weren't common, but when they did happen, they were epic in size and implication (punching a hole in a wall sophomore year of college or picking a fight with his sister's ex). In hindsight, Emmett knew the execution had been wrong, but he'd been too turned around, too flustered, to see the train wreck coming until the cars were long off the tracks.

It was that same, undeniable sense of imbalance that had plagued him all week. He'd never wanted a woman so badly in his entire life, but he continued to be the good guy, taking the high road and, at times, even going so far as to cockblock himself. As much as Rosalie gave him a hard time about the nice guy act, he wanted to be one for her, taking it probably further than he had for anyone, ever. She pushed him and she challenged him. She made him laugh and she filled all the spaces that he'd never really stopped to see were empty.

Four days had passed since he woke up in Rosalie's bed, and short of dinner on Saturday night, their time over the next few weeks would be sparse - a week in New York for her, World Series coverage and then a presentation at Vanderbilt for him. That pending absence scared Emmett more than he knew how to admit. Somehow, Rosalie had burrowed in under his skin, leaving a large enough hole that when he was alone, Emmett didn't know how to fill the space that she left.

That scared the shit out of him. He'd intentionally spent his whole life not needing anyone, and now that he did, Emmett didn't know what to do. Somewhere along the way, this back and forth had turned into something more, and he'd allowed himself to get so caught up in it that he broke all the rules. He'd allowed himself to make promises, open-ended ones that offered up the world with no questions asked.

Those words had lodged in his chest like a lead balloon, a reminder of all the times other people had made promises and then let them fall apart.

His dad had promised things would be different, that marrying his mom a second time would be a good thing.

_It wasn't._

Esme had promised to call Emmett if Charles Evenson ever hurt her.

_She hadn't._

Alice promised that she would stay clean, that she knew what she was doing.

_She didn't._

Time after time, promises were made, only to be broken. When the dust cleared, Emmett had been the one to swoop in and clean up the mess, to put things back together and make sure everything was okay. But what about this time? He was the one making the promise. Who would clean up after him if he broke his word?

_Not if_, he mentally corrected himself, W_hen. It's inevitable. It's life. _

That was the hard part in all this. Emmett wanted to mean every part of his promise, even if all Rosalie had asked for was not to leave that night. Next week, next month, next year, next decade, it didn't matter; he wanted to be with her. He knew that deep down in his gut. The problem was he couldn't guarantee it, no one could. People meant the best, but invariably, they let the ones they loved the most down.

It was just the way things worked.

While Emmett waited in line for his coffee, he scrolled through his email, catching up on all the correspondence he'd missed over the past few days as he'd slipped into hermit mode. It appeared someone had noticed.

_Mac – _

_I'm about to send out search and rescue. You finally succumb to Dixie's sauce? _

_Lil_

Emmett scrubbed a hand over his face, trying to push away the air of failure that clung to him like a thin layer of grime. He was stumbling everywhere, and letting everyone down. _How am I going to do this?_

"Can I help you?" the barista asked, pulling his attention away from the little black digital nag in his hand.

"Double shot latte, skim, please." Emmett slid a five dollar bill across the counter, and then moved to the side to wait for his drink. After a few seconds of inaction, he pulled back out his Blackberry and hit reply.

_Lil – _

_Sorry I went MIA, it's just been a… fuck, I don't know what it's been. _

_I'm stuck. I'm all turned around, and damned if I can't make heads or tails out of what I need to do next. The Bird landed, and she's taken me down for the count, and all I can think is I am going to screw this up. I don't want to, but I will, it's inevitable._

_And I am making no sense, am I?_

_Mac_

Emmett hit send before he could second guess himself, and then stepped back out of the way, leaning against a wall covered with flyers and pictures to close his eyes. He let go, focusing on the scents and sounds as they unfolded around him, wrapping him in a warm embrace that almost blocked everything out.

He should have ordered a hot chocolate with whipped cream. That's what Nan used to make for them when they were having a rough day. It was at times like these that Emmett missed his nan the most. She would know what to do, and would nudge him in the right direction without Emmett needing to ask. She always had the right answers.

"Double shot, skim!" the barista called, interrupting Emmett's silent reverie. The bell over the door jingled as two teenage girls entered, their cheeks scarlet from the cold. The barista nudged the white paper cup across the counter, and then he was off, smiling at the two girls who were far superior to the doom and gloom of a male patron who preferred women at the back counter.

Emmett went through the motions of retrieving his drink and slipping an insulated sleeve up over the bottom of the cup. Then he picked the chocolate-covered espresso bean out of the lid crease and chucked it in the garbage.

Say what she would, there was no way Lily was convincing him chocolate would help today. Maybe it wasn't the food that made it better, but the person connected to the memory. He'd have to remember to ask her why chocolate was her cure-all. Maybe there was some connection for her, something that made it special, just like nan with the hot chocolate and cookies.

He sat down in an overstuffed chair in the far corner of the coffee shop and retrieved his phone, pulling up his sister's number and hitting send. Then he dropped his head back against the seat back so he could stare at the stamped tin ceiling. The phone rang once, twice, three times before going to voicemail. It was six in Philadelphia, no telling where Alice could be.

"Hey, this is Alice," his sister's voice echoed through the phone. "I can't talk, but you can, so don't leave me hanging."

He hit disconnect before the beep could echo through the line. No point in leaving a message. Alice would see his number on caller ID and ping him back. It's exactly what she did to him.

When he cleared the call screen, the message indicator light was flashing on his phone, the red blinking light yet another reminder of Rosalie, and all the things he was avoiding. Everywhere he looked now he saw red, both of the theoretical and literal variety, and it always tied back to her. Red scarf, scarlet cheeks, crimson lips…

"Rose Red," he mumbled, recalling one of the fairytales Alice was obsessed with as a kid. She and Esme would pretend to be Rose Red and Snow White, relegating Emmett to the role of the Bear, which he'd always considered to be a nice twist on their relationship. The character from the story really wasn't that different from Rosalie – seemingly reserved until her trust was won over.

Trust that the bear won by not eating her up.

"Stop already," he said, shaking his head. "Quit with the pansy ass comparisons, your life isn't exciting enough to be a fairytale, and your name is way too normal."

Emmett jabbed the trackball with his thumb, then clicked open the new email message, which had arrived while he called Alice.

_Mac – _

_Well, I guess I'll take it by your rambling, discombobulated response that you are over being freaked by our proximity (although I am still pissed off at you for dissing my comment. There is nothing wrong with 'It's a Small World,' just the execution). More importantly, I'm glad you are alive. Death by 'the man' is a terrible fate._

_Anywho – why are you so spooked about screwing up? Isn't that cart before the horse a little bit? It's not like you proposed or anything…_

_Uh oh, you didn't propose, did you?_

_Lil_

Emmett sighed and squeezed his eyes shut, trying to figure out a way to articulate just what the hell was going through his head. Was he being a freak and blowing this all out of proportion, or was there some crucial wiring out of whack, preventing him from seeing the big picture?

"Well, Mac, there is only one way to find out," he said, and hit reply.

_Lil – _

_Face value, it's fine. More than fine – and no, I didn't propose, but I made promises, which in a way, might as well be the same thing. _

_That's what's wrong. _

_How do I know I'm not going to screw this up? My personal experiences and family life haven't exactly created the greatest model for relationships. How can I promise to be or do something for someone else when I can't even be sure of it myself? She's amazing, and she deserves everything… what if I can't be that for her? She's been hurt before, and she's taking a risk too. I can't stand doing anything that might hurt her. So I'm over-thinking and banging my head against the wall in the hopes of seeing black and white, but all this hazy red high of emotion is coloring things. _

_It's not even dark chocolate curable._

_Time to call in the big guns and follow Cerrano's lead - we may need to sacrifice a chicken to break this funk._

_Mac_

**-0-0-0-**

For the next twenty-four hours, Lily built him up, responding to his emails with long, thoughtful answers about how he wasn't going to screw things with 'The Bird' up. She didn't fix things, and she didn't try to explain it away. She held his hand – well, metaphorically, and helped Emmett realize that he was over-thinking things. No, he didn't have the answers, but he was also being way too absolute by trying to make everything logical in a completely illogical world.

It pulled him down off the ledge and allowed him to relax; something that had been evading Emmett for days. With the frustration tempered, he was more capable of expressing his feelings, and in return, open up to what Lily was telling him. It didn't make everything better, but it at least gave him hope.

_Mac – _

_I'm heading out soon – I've got a romantic life of my own to tend to, you know. (It's going very well, thank you very much for forgetting to ask, you are forgiven). _

_I'm giving you this final piece of parting wisdom, thanks to our buddy Crash – a player on a streak has to respect the streak. You're happy with your Bird, right? Ditch the whole horny as hell thing (I can read between the lines – some of my closest friends are guys, you know) – you are __happy__ with her. Next time you see her, focus on that, and how it feels. Yeah, there will be bad time - they always happen - if you focus on the good and stop trying to come up with something full of magic or religion or bullshit, it will all shake out._

_I'm not going to touch the last part of the quote demanding that you dazzle me – that's between you and your bird, and you know what, I have exhausted my share of brain bleach for a while. _

_You'll do fine, my friend, just fine. _

_Oh, and just in case you do need a little help, do something to catch her off guard. Odds are she's just as turned around as you are._

_Gotta go – good luck tonight!_

_Lil_

He leaned his head against his balled up fist and blew out a long gust of air, trying to accept that Lily was right. It was unrealistic of him to expect everything to be perfect all the time, hell he knew better than anyone that life couldn't be that way. But when he was with Rosalie, he was lighter, freer than he'd been in ages. He needed to focus on that, just like Lily said. If he could just keep his head there, maybe he'd start to believe that they could actually maintain the streak.

His Blackberry vibrated on the coffee table, indicating an incoming text message. Emmett snapped his laptop shut and leaned forward, jabbing a button to activate the screen.

_Leaving soon – should be there by 6. Ready or not, here I come!_

A jolt of adrenaline ripped through Emmett's body, leaving a space in his chest light and… for lack of a better word, fizzy. The fear was daunting, as was the worry, but it couldn't top the rush that came with Rosalie Hale's presence. It was like Lily called it, she was a bird, roaming around in his limbs, her sharp talons tickling his skin and marking her as his.

He could over-think it all he wanted - there wasn't a chance he would walk away.

**-0-0-0-**

The text had promised six, but in reality, it was more like 6:15. Rosalie evaded his attempt to kiss her hello, ducking under his arm with something that sounded like a giggle.

"No way," she said, kicking off her heels and leaving them by the door. "We've known each other for a month. You've been to my place, now I want to see yours. Show me, or I show myself."

She was already in progress, moving down the hallway into the living area. Emmett followed her at a distance, allowing Rosalie to explore. He didn't have anything to hide.

He was also realizing he didn't have a lot to show, either.

It was surreal, watching Rosalie wander through his apartment, an out of body experience that made Emmett cringe as he saw his home through her eyes.

"How long have you been here?" Rosalie asked. She was hovering over his coffee table, studying the stack of magazines he'd forced into a semi-organized pile to make room for a bottle of wine and a platter of cheese and fruit he'd sliced earlier in the day. He'd been so focused on prep – food, showering, making sure there were no dirty socks lying around – that he'd forgotten the bigger picture (or lack there of). Now, Emmett was seeing his apartment through Rosalie's eyes, and everything was different.

Black and white. No life. No warmth.

"I bought it in March," he said. The words were like sawdust in his mouth – he'd bought it in March, but it hadn't felt like home. Not until recently, and it had nothing to do with the place or what he bought, but what was _in_ it.

She nodded and moved on, her bare feet silent as she moved across hardwood floors and area rugs.

"I'm going to take you out next weekend and we're going to buy some prints," Rosalie said. She let her fingers trail along the empty walls. "Maybe a mirror too. It'll reflect the view, and give this place more dimension."

She continued to wander around the living area, her fingers trailing across the back of the couch, then the face of the television, and finally, the long louvered blinds that he used to close out the late afternoon sun. The neutral colors, things he'd chosen because they suited his life or his tastes, were dull under her fingers. The blacks and grays were lost against the flushed pink of her skin, the vibrant hue of her thin blue cardigan, and the bright red of her fingernails.

"Well, the rest is pretty underwhelming," Emmett said as he started walking slowly backward down the hallway. He liked watching her here, the way she hovered over things, studying them. Most people would skim the surface and move on, but not Rosalie Hale. She lived for the details – in some ways, the bird description wasn't off. She didn't miss a thing. "Kitchen, bathroom, bedroom. Small utility room with the tiniest washer and dryer you'll ever see."

"Show me," she said again. Her blue eyes were wide, her thumbs hooked in the pockets of her jeans. "Show me your world, Em."

"I thought I've been doing that."

"No," Rosalie said, walking slowly toward him. "You've been telling me, I want to _see_." She was well aware by now just exactly what she did to him, and used that to her advantage. The jeans, the snug cardigan, unbuttoned just low enough to hint at what was underneath, the hair pulled back in a ponytail – they all worked together. With her hands hooked in the loops of her jeans, her walk was exaggerated, causing her ponytail to swing back and forth, matching the exaggerated swing in her gait. It was the visual equivalent of how she was rocking his life, not in little pieces, but all the different facets working together to push him off balance and make him crave more. More of this, more of her, maybe even more from himself.

This had become an addiction for him, something he craved. She lent color and texture to his world – without her it would all be neutral, flat. Maybe that's why he'd been second guessing himself all week. It wasn't the failures that came before, it was fear of not having this day in and day out. It was his time to decide – fight or flight.

"Well, you have the kitchen," he said, refocusing on Rosalie. "Nothing huge, but I'm not a half bad cook."

He braced a hand against the doorway, waiting as Rosalie brushed past him, her shoulder soft against his chest.

"This is where you are going to make me that amazing dinner and prove you aren't the typical bachelor?" Her hands were in motion again, turning the wine bottles that rested in the small rack on the counter, then nudging a baguette that was still housed in a white paper bag just a tiny bit to the left. "I'd say you have a good start."

Emmett suppressed the urge to laugh as the effervescent sensation from before filled his chest, his arms, even his finger tips. It was the physical equivalent of an endorphin rush or the high he got after a run. He was hyper alert, aware of every move she made, the curious tilt of her head as she read the postcards tacked to the side of the refrigerator.

"Who went to Italy?" she asked.

"My sister, a few months ago. It was her way of celebrating a new phase in her life."

Rosalie hummed and moved slowly away from the refrigerator. "Do you have a picture of your sisters? I feel like I know them, but I don't know what they look like."

"Come on," Emmett held out his hand, needing to have her closer to him. Rosalie hooked her index finger around his pinkie and allowed him to lead her down the hallway, her steps blending together with his.

The sun had dropped below the horizon, bathing his room in a rosy glow. Emmett snapped on a light and leaned against the wall just inside the door, inclining his head toward the dresser where a series of picture frames were arranged. There was an old black and white of his grandparents, sitting on a porch swing, Mac McCarty grinning devilishly at the camera. Next to it, another candid, this one in vivid color – Emmett sitting in one the seats at Safeco field, Alice splayed out across his lap while Esme pretended to choke him from behind. They were all laughing and smiling. It had been a good day, one free from regrets, and it showed in their smiles and body language. No shadows had been cast that day – and for just a little while, they'd been just three regular people, happy, laughing, and carefree.

"Which one is this?" Rosalie picked up the photo and ran her finger across the surface. "Her hair's the exact same color as yours."

"Alice," Emmett said with a smile. "Esme is choking me. They both look like our mom, but Al and I got the McCarty coloring and energy. Es is a bit more Zen, but we're all stubborn as hell."

"They're both so beautiful," Rosalie said. Her voice had dropped almost to a whisper, and Emmett wondered what she was thinking. His sisters looked so normal in that photo. No one would ever believe that Esme had been abused and tormented by her ex-husband, or that Alice had tried on two occasions to take her life.

"Prettier on the inside than out, kind of like someone else I know." Emmett took the photo from her hand and placed it back on the dresser. He'd never stopped to consider the way his sisters had helped him, even going so far as to put their stamp on how he viewed women. Without the things they'd gone through, and the way the McCarty kids had pulled together, he would never have known to look beneath the surface. Es and Al had taught him to look for that. Maybe it's why he'd never seen things through with anyone else – what was underneath had never topped the packaging.

Rosalie turned away, taking in the rest of the room. Emmett wanted to follow her, but he hung back, forcing himself to control the urge to touch her. She wanted to explore – to understand. He needed to let her do this, even if it made him uncomfortable, being so exposed.

"Plaid sheets, huh?" Rosalie grabbed a pillow off his bed, puffing it twice before lobbing it in his direction. "That's a little fraternity boy, isn't it?"

He caught the pillow easily, and, in a ricochet motion, tossed it back to the head of the bed. "I don't know. I haven't been in many fraternity boys rooms."

"I think it's cute," she teased, her thumbs hooking back into the pockets of her jeans.

Reaching out, Emmett caught her by the wrist, tugging Rosalie gently back to him. "Makes me sound an awful lot like a puppy."

He placed his free hand against her neck, his thumb swiping a slow path underneath her jaw. Rosalie swallowed, the tendons and muscles in her neck moving gently under his hand, her eyes fixed on his mouth.

"No," she said, "No, you're not a puppy."

"Good." Rosalie might have tried to say something more, but Emmett cut her off with a soft kiss at the corner of her mouth. "That would be almost as bad as _nice_."

His lips moved of their own accord, slow, soft kisses along the bottom of her lip, and then back. He could feel her pulse hammering against his fingers. Their kisses evolved, slowly, mouths opening, hands and arms adjusting until they could find the right anchor. The base of her neck, the collar of his shirt. His right hand braced against her hip, his thumb slipping up under the sweater to trace slow circles against her bare skin.

Down the hall, the phone rang, echoing against the empty walls. It was the opening strains of _Fairy Tales of New York_, an old Pogues song that he and Alice loved to sing to each other. Emmett had set it as her ring tone years ago, and refused to change it.

"Speak of the devil," he said. "That's Alice. Can you give me a minute?"

Rosalie nodded, her eyes a bit glassy. "Yeah, I'll be there in just a second."

Emmett jogged down the hallway, buoyed by the fire in his chest and the promise of more to come. He caught the phone just before it stopped ringing, jabbing talk and pressing the flat black phone against his ear.

"This better be good, you cheap lousy faggot," he said, ripping off the lyrics of the song, "Cause what you are inter-"

"Emmett," Alice cut him off. Something was wrong, he knew it immediately. It wasn't that she didn't counter with the rest of the song, calling him a scumbag or maggot; it was that she didn't laugh, and her voice was flat. Alice had the habit of ending every sentence on a high note, like it was a question instead of a statement. "Em, Mom just called. She…"

"What?" The words tumbled out as Emmett's instinct and upbringing took over, putting him on the defensive. "What happened? What did she do?"

There was a moment of silence on the other end of the line - a long, pregnant pause, followed by a heavy sigh. "She got married, Em. The guy at the airport. The one she was with when she saw Dad. She married him last week. She called and left a message on my phone earlier. He's two years older than you are, Em."

The words spilled out, tripping over each other like an avalanche of snow and rock, plowing down all the progress she'd fought to make. Alice's issues, her addiction, her insecurities, her self-destructive behaviors, they'd all been a byproduct of their parent's relationship. To have their mom drop a bomb like this, on Alice, of all people, in such a careless manner…

Emmett forgot where he was, that there might be anyone around. Pinpricks flared at the corner of his eyes, creating a tunnel, a vortex, as anger tore through his chest.

A man's voice echoed across the line. It was low, comforting even. He could hear Alice murmuring something to this unidentified speaker, whom he assumed to be her boyfriend, Jasper. She'd met him after rehab – he was a counselor, and they'd started out as friends but became more. It was a relief to know she had someone there, that she wasn't alone.

"I have to go, Em. I just…I thought you would want to know." Alice sounded so small, and he wanted to reach through the phone to hug her. "I know you'll worry, but I'm fine. I'm not alone. And I'll call Es tomorrow, I just…"

"Thanks, Al," he said. It was automatic, a response that didn't make sense given the situation. "I-"

"Love you, Em," Alice said quickly.

Then she was gone.

He held the phone to his ear for a long moment. There was a click, and then silence. He was alone.

Alice words echoed over and over in his head. _Married. Guy at the airport. Last week. _

_Two years older than him._

The pricks constricted, the vortex shrinking until all he could see was the stack of food, neatly arranged on the counter. Without thinking, he swung his arm wide, knocking the baguette and plastic clamshell holding strawberries onto the kitchen floor. The berries scattered, one smashing against the linoleum floor, the juices looking like blood seeping out of a broken heart.

Another swipe of the arm sent a container of mushrooms toppling, the soft brown pods rolling across the floor, like mice desperate to escape. The destruction wasn't enough, the rage boiling in his chest screaming to get out. He grabbed a tomato, jerking it free from its mates on the vine. It was soft in his hand, pliable – so easily destroyed with just the slightest pressure.

Emmett dropped his arm back, his elbow bent, index and middle finger pressed over the tomato instinctively, the grip pitchers used for a curveball. He was about to let loose and throw the tomato at the wall with all his might when a cool hand wrapped around his wrist. The contact shocked him, reminding him that he wasn't alone.

Rosalie was here.

"Please don't use the food in your temper tantrum," she said quietly. There was no malice in her voice, no fear, no judgment. Just Rosalie - quiet and self-possessed. "I really am hungry, and I don't want to order takeout tonight."

Her words were cold water, and the vortex receded, the anger and frustration spooling down as quickly as it had taken over. Emmett's face burned with anger, frustration, and even more so with embarrassment, but Rosalie didn't seem to care. She tugged on his wrist, pulling him back, away from the destruction, and wrapped her arms around his waist, her cheek resting against his shoulder.

"Do you want to tell me about it?"

It wasn't a demand, just an offer. She didn't run, or make an excuse to leave.

That's when Emmett realized she wasn't going to, and for the first time since Nan died, he relaxed and allowed himself to lean on someone else.

* * *

**Much love and chocolate to Lightstardusting. This is for Lookingforhoofprints.**

**Four more and an epi to go – we are down to final innings, and it's turning into a real pitcher's duel (hehe). See you next week.**


	10. She's a Real Team Player

**Chapter 10 - She's a Real Team Player**

Rosalie had thrown a tantrum or two in her life, so she knew what one sounded like. She'd been in Emmett's bedroom trying to get back all the breath he'd taken by kissing her, her fingers sweeping back and forth over her collarbone, when she heard it: a low murmur – staccato, clipped – followed by silence.

It was the sound of his silence that made Rosalie turn toward the door and caused her fingers drift to a stop. She knew that silence. It was what happened between a lightning strike and a thunderclap, thick, electric and ominous.

She was already making her way cautiously down the hallway, fingertips trailing barren wall, when she heard the noise begin, that roll of thunder.

She got to Emmett just before he lobbed a tomato at the wall. Though it would have been a vast improvement over the current wall décor in the kitchen (read: none), it would have also been a total bitch to clean up. She could feel his pulse racing hard underneath her fingers when she wrapped them around his wrist to stop him.

"Please don't use the food in your temper tantrum. I really am hungry and I don't want to order takeout tonight."

Rosalie kept her voice calm, recognized with a distant, aching familiarity the complicated tangle of emotions that played out on Emmett's face – the tension around his eyes and mouth, the color that bloomed hot on his face. She knew about the frustration, the helplessness, the sadness that all mixed together until it consumed and took over. She knew about the regret and embarrassment that came afterward, the shame of losing control and having a witness to it all.

She didn't want him to regret her seeing this, because this was a part of who he was. She_ wanted _to see it. He'd seen the good, the bad and the ugly of her. She wanted him to know that he could show her who he was, too, that she'd take every part of him gladly. She wanted him to trust her, to know that she wasn't going anywhere.

Rosalie wound her arms around Emmett's waist and pressed her body against his. He was rigid, almost vibrating, and her hands moved up and down his back in slow, soothing strokes.

_I'm here_, she told him silently.

Out loud, she asked, "Do you want to tell me about it?"

There was silence again, but it was a different kind now, a hesitant quiet. Rosalie could feel Emmett's tension melting away beneath her fingertips, could feel his muscles uncoiling slowly. His hands found her hips and he pulled her closer, inhaling deeply as if he were steeling himself.

After a moment, he pulled away and looked down at the mess surrounding them, letting out a long sigh through his nose. "My mom got married."

Rosalie's brows shot up in surprise. "I take it by the way you massacred the mushrooms that this is bad news."

"It's just so typical, you know? The guy is my age, for Christ's sake!" he exclaimed. "And then she calls Al to deliver the news, knowing that she's the last person that would be able to handle that shit." He stopped, his gaze darting from the spot on the far wall that he'd been glaring at back to Rosalie. He shook his head slightly, his expression contrite. "I'm sorry, none of this is making sense. I'm just trying to wrap my head around what happened."

Rosalie reached out, wrapping her hand around his wrist again. Her thumb found the spot where he was inked and she traced the lines, locking her eyes with his. "Do you want to tell me about it?" she asked again, meaning something very different this time. _Tell me about you_, she thought. She wanted to know.

Emmett's gaze dropped to where her thumb was still moving over his tattoo, across his pulse. "My parents' relationship is a mess. Always has been. Es, Al and I have been caught in the middle of it for years, which they don't – or can't – see because they're too busy either hating or loving each other." He threw her an exasperated look. "Or getting married and divorced."

"To each other or other people?"

"Both," he said with a humorless laugh. "Dad married his latest last month. I didn't think this one with Mom would stick, but that just goes to show you how much I know when it comes to those two. I just wish she'd called me first instead of Alice."

"Why?"

"Because Al has her own shit to contend with. She's had some trouble in the past and dealing with my parents' bullshit when she's working so hard to get back on track isn't fair."

"It's not fair for you to shoulder all of it, though, Em," Rosalie pointed out, crossing a foot over her ankle and leaning back against the counter. A mushroom ricocheted off her foot, hitting the side of Emmett's. He looked down and she saw a brief flash of dimple, an indication that the veil of anger he'd been behind was slowly lifting. "And I get the feeling that you do that a lot."

He shrugged with a small smile. "I'm the responsible one. The rock, you know? My sisters need someone to lean on when our parents go off the deep end."

"But then who do _you _lean on?"

"I'm 6'5 and 220, Hale, I don't think many people could handle me," he joked. He avoided eye contact, though, his cheeks going red as he nudged the mushroom with his toe.

Rosalie tilted her head, waiting for him to meet her gaze. When he did, his eyes were a little dark, traces of sadness etched in the lines that framed them when he smiled at her. "You won't know until you try, Emmett. It can't be easy to have to take care of the people that are supposed to take care of you. But _you_ need to know that regardless of what they expect or what you think your sisters can and can't handle, you can't claim responsibility for your parents. You don't have to fix it. In fact, I'm sure that you _can't _fix it and hulking out and ruining what looked like perfectly good produce definitely isn't going to help anything."

Emmett stared at her for a long moment, his lips slightly parted, eyebrows nearly disappearing into his hairline.

"I won't charge you for the stellar advice," she joked when his silence grew heavy. She could feel her face and neck go warm as he continued to gaze at her. She'd been doling out advice to Mac all week, soothing his unnecessary but understandable panic attacks over Bird, and it had naturally come out in this conversation, too. But maybe Emmett wasn't as receptive as Mac had been.

Still, she didn't regret what she'd said. She doubted many people had told him what he'd so obviously needed to hear. In fact, she doubted many people even knew what he'd been going through all of these years. He was easy-going and charming, had that smartass sense of humor that she loved, but he wore his shield just as effectively as she did, let people think that was all there was to him. Sometimes it was easier to hide the things that hurt, to keep them buried beneath the surface, because most people never took the time to dig deeper unless they were given a reason.

"I know you think I'm pretty, but stop staring at me and say something, even if it's to tell me to mind my business."

One corner of his mouth pulled up as his eyes, still lined at the outer edges, but much softer, swept over her one more lingering time.

"I'm afraid of the consequences of telling you to mind your business." Rosalie laughed and he stepped closer, his grin growing. "Besides, I told you my business." Another step. She could feel his knees brush against her legs, felt the heat from his arms as he placed his hands on the counter, trapping her between them. "And maybe I likeyou in my business."

"You're in _my _business right now." Her voice faltered as he leaned in, dipped his head. Her arms instinctively wrapped around his waist and she hooked a foot around the back of his ankle, drawing him closer. A low laugh rumbled in his chest.

She could feel his smile against her neck and then he was nipping sensitive skin under her jaw, moving along until his mouth grazed the shell of her ear. "Do you like me in your business?" he asked, drawing a shiver from her spine.

Rosalie hummed. "I'm having a hard time following the metaphor at the moment."

Emmett laughed again and her eyes fluttered closed when she felt his nose brush across her cheek and then graze against her own. She opened her eyes again and she saw a flash of brilliant blue before his mouth was on hers, a soft pressure, but when she parted her lips, it turned heated and insistent. His hand went to the back of her head, fingers tangling in her hair. Her fingers found their place, too, snaking underneath his shirt to press against the hot skin above the waistband of his jeans. She felt his breath stutter and she smiled, loving that her simple touch could elicit that kind of response.

"I'm sorry I messed up dinner," he murmured when they broke apart, breathless. "I was going to wow you with my culinary skills."

"Well, I'm still starving so we'll just have to figure something else out." Rosalie turned and pulled the cabinet in front of her open. The options were minimal, so she moved onto the next one, which was in a similar state. She threw him a look over her shoulder, pointing to a can of organic black beans. "Jesus, McCarty, do you even live here or did you rent this place for the night?"

He ran a hand through his hair, his cheeks going adorably pink. "I don't keep the kitchen that stocked. There's a grocery store around the corner, so I just do a few days' worth of shopping at a time."

"Ah, a food minimalist. That doesn't explain how you got to be such a big boy." He waggled his eyebrows and she smiled wickedly before turning back to the cabinet, pulling out a blue box. "You have macaroni and cheese, so you're not completely hopeless."

"We're going to have macaroni and cheese for dinner?" he asked dubiously.

Rosalie cocked a hip, holding the box to her chest. "Excuse me, you're looking at the best mac and cheese maker this side of the Mississippi. I own this recipe. "

Emmett tapped the box with a grin. "They spelled your name wrong, Hale." One eyebrow arched in feigned suspicion. "Or should I say Kraft?"

"Don't doubt me," she shot back, rolling her eyes as she went in search of a pot. Emmett was right behind her, opening a lower cabinet that held an impressive array of cook wear. "It won't be as fancy as what you had planned, but I think you could do with some comfort food tonight anyway."

"I have hot dogs, too, if you want to cut them up and mix them in."

She straightened with a gasp, pot in hand, ignoring the teasing grin on his face. "That," she said, "would be perfect."

Emmett shook his head slowly as he pulled her against him. She melted into him, warmth spreading through her body everywhere they touched. "You're something else, Rosalie Hale," he murmured.

"Something good, I hope."

He dropped a kiss on one corner of her mouth and then the other. She felt his words more than heard them and they sent goose bumps skittering across every part of her skin. "Something amazing."

Their lips lingered close but not touching for a few seconds and Rosalie forced her eyes not to close, instead taking in the way Emmett's gaze was focused on her mouth, how his lips curled up to reveal just a hint of dimple, the constellation of freckles that dusted his nose.

Emmett brushed his mouth against hers, once, twice, before capturing her bottom lip between his. One kiss turned into two and then three until she couldn't count them anymore, until they blended into one another, a slow melding of lips and tongues and breath.

"Okay, seriously," Rosalie said after a few minutes. The hand that wasn't clutching the pot was gripping the fabric of Emmett's shirt to keep upright. The things this man did to her knees. "We need to concentrate."

"I am concentrating," Emmett muttered against her neck, working his way down to her collarbone. Her head fell to the side, giving him access even as she tried to push him away gently.

"On dinner, Emmett." Any attempt she made at sounding stern was ruined by her soft whimper. He chuckled against her skin. When he pulled back, looking both sexy and adorable, glassy-eyed and pink-cheeked with his bottom lip pouting out.

After they picked up the rogue produce, they worked side-by-side, hips bumping lightly while he took care of the hot dogs and she manned the noodles.

"My mom always used to make me macaroni and cheese when I'd had a bad day," she said, watching the water and noodles swirl around the spoon as she stirred. "I still think it has the power to cure whatever ails me."

Emmett looked sideways at her with a small smile. "My cure-all was Nan's cookies."

"Oh yeah? What kind?"

"Chocolate chip, snickerdoodle, peanut butter; she made them all. And I _ate _them all. Al and Es used to get so pissed at me. You'd think they would've figured out quicker that if they didn't eat them fast, they didn't eat them at all. After awhile, Nan would make me my own batch. She complained the whole time, but she did it."

Rosalie laughed and then tilted her head, appraising him. "Your face goes all soft when you talk about your nan, you know."

Emmett smiled with a shrug and poked at the hot dogs – three for him, two for her – with a fork before setting it down on the counter next to the stove. He turned, gazing off at some unknown spot in the distance. "That woman had me wrapped around her little finger. Every good memory I have of growing up has her and my granda in it – playing baseball in the backyard and cheering on the Mariners, Nan stuffing me with food at every opportunity, the smell of cookies…" He trailed off and came back to her, his gaze focusing on her once again. He grasped her hand and pulled it up to his mouth, kissing the inside of her wrist softly. She curved her palm against his cheek with a smile. "The smell of lemon verbena."

"The best smell in the world," she replied, remembering the note that had accompanied the cookies he'd sent her what felt like forever ago. "I bet you were their favorite."

He snorted. "Of course I was." He paused, looking carefully at her. "They would've loved you. Nan would've gotten a kick out of you smacking me around when I need it. And Granda probably would've tried to pinch your ass if I didn't keep an eye on him. He had a thing for blondes."

Rosalie laughed, so clearly imagining these two people that had helped shape Emmett into the man he was now. "I wish I could have met them," she said softly.

"Me, too." His voice dipped low and husky, the hint of a smile tugging at his mouth. Her heart ached at the sadness written across his face.

"Hey, you know what?" She bumped her hip against his to get his attention, wanting to make it better, needing to see him smile.

"What?" he asked, looking at her out of the corner of his eye.

"If you're lucky, I'll cut your hot dog into the shape of an octopus."

Just like that, he was back, a wide grin spreading across his face, dimples deepening to almost obscene levels. "I guess it's a good thing I've been feeling so lucky lately, then."

Her heart skipped a beat under his gaze and she turned back to the noodles to hide her own ridiculous smile.

She knew exactly how he felt.

**-0-0-0-**

"I can't believe you've never had a living room picnic."

Emmett looked up from his Scrabble tiles with a bemused smile. "How many times are you going to say that tonight, do you think?"

"When I actually wrap my head around it," Rosalie replied, tapping her chin with her finger thoughtfully as she assessed her own tiles. She kicked her feet in the air before hooking them at the ankles, then laid her pieces on the board with a flourish. "Nipple."

He raised a teasing eyebrow as he watched her tally up her score. "See, Rose, there's this thing called the _outdoors_. That's where we had our picnics. That's where _most_ people have their picnics."

Rosalie looked up at him, sitting cross-legged across from her, elbows on his knees as he considered his next move. She waited for him to look up and when he did, smirking, she shook her head slowly. "_Wow_."

He laughed, eyes sparking with amusement, and she bit back a smile. "What? It's true!"

"You're a picnic snob," she sniffed, picking out new tiles from the box spread out next to them.

"I'm not, it's just the truth. It's like the rule of picnics: must be outside."

"Oh, really? Because I haven't heard you complain." She paused. "Well, until now."

Emmett brushed his knuckles against his jaw, letting his gaze move from the game board to Rosalie. His mouth stretched from a pensive pout into a slow, sexy grin. "That's because the scenery's very nice tonight."

Rosalie let out a low whistle, trying to act unaffected. In reality, she wanted to fling the Scrabble board across the room and climb into his lap. "Nice save, Mr. McCarty."

"Do I get a reward?"

"God, you're shameless," she replied, but she was already on her knees, stretching over the game board to reach his lips. Emmett put his palm against the side of her neck, his fingers pressing lightly into her spine. She could feel the vibration of his soft laugh against her mouth, but it stopped abruptly when their tongues met, replaced by a low hum. He tasted like the tiramisu they'd shared for dessert, sweet and warm.

His fingers dug in, just a little, when she started to pull away. "I'm not done with you."

Her breath and heart caught and she arched toward him, capturing his lips again. She let him set the pace, deep and urgent but also slow and breathless, until her elbows were shaking with the effort to keep herself upright.

"I'm going to fall on the board," she whispered, her mouth brushing against his. It was soft, deliciously torturous pressure, but she needed the miniscule amount of distance. Her head was fogged with him.

One of Emmett's hands drifted down her arm, his fingers sparking electricity right into her veins. "C'mere then."

She pulled back further, tilting her head with a smirk. "Mm, but I'm winning."

"This way we both win," he replied, stroking the inside of her wrist with a tempting smile. "Be a team player, Hale, and get over here."

She wanted to get over there. Hell, she wanted to get in his bed, wanted him on top of and beneath her. But she had to be at the airport at five the next morning and would be spending the rest of the week 3,000 miles away from him. If she gave in to what she really wanted to do, there was no way she'd be able to drag herself away from him afterward. She wanted him the next morning, legs tangled in sheets. She wanted breakfast and maple syrup kisses. Instead, she'd have to steal away before dawn to get ready for four days of meetings and workshops at her company's headquarters. And she knew, she _knew, _that she'd spend the entire time dreaming about what he'd done to her, with her.

So while she didn't _want _to wait, she knew she needed to.

"Hold that thought. I want to hand you your ass at Scrabble first."

She smiled and nipped at his bottom lip before rocking back on her heels and settling back on her side of the board. Emmett frowned at her balefully, mumbling to himself as he set his tiles on the board.

"Dick," Rosalie read, looking up at him. "In what context?"

He shrugged noncommittally, but his smirk spoke volumes. She rolled her eyes, repositioning herself on the blanket she'd spread out before dinner.

After they'd finished cooking their impromptu meal, they'd moved into the dining room. Rosalie had taken one look at the table, cozy though it was, and made an executive decision. She'd had many a living room picnic growing up, usually while she was feasting on macaroni and cheese, and it had seemed fitting somehow with Emmett. More intimate. More opportunities for knees and shoulders and mouths to graze while they ate their meal.

He'd laughed at her at first, watching her spread the plaid blanket that had been haphazardly thrown over his leather couch onto the carpet. But she'd forged ahead, ordering him to dim the track lighting overhead to set the mood. The city lights twinkled behind them and when he'd folded his long body on to the floor next to her, his eyes were lit up and lingering on her. They flirted and laughed and drank wine with their macaroni and octopus-shaped hot dogs, knees touching as they cradled plates on their laps.

Somehow he made the simplest things the most meaningful. He continually swept her off her feet by just being _him_. Every moment she spent with him was better than the last and the thought of what was to come made her feel things that were so intense they almost scared her. She felt safe with him and at the same time exhilarated, like anything could happen.

When he'd pulled out the Scrabble board, a wicked smile in place while he explained that they were playing a slightly different version tonight, she knew that what had happened with his family had been put on the back burner for the night. Dirty Scrabble had probably helped. It was hard to concentrate on familial issues when words like "horny" and "hard" were spread across the board.

They played for a while longer, Emmett nearly spewing his beer when Rosalie innocently put down "fucked."

"Fucked," Rosalie read aloud with a grin. "Also known as what Emmett McCarty is when he plays Scrabble with Rosalie Hale." She pointed at the board. "Oh, and that's a triple word score. I think I won."

Emmett squinted at her and then looked down at the board, his mouth pursing. If there was anyone as competitive as Rosalie, it was Emmett – she'd discovered that at the batting cages – and she could tell he was deciding whether he was going to take the loss well or not.

"I went easy on you," he said finally, gesturing to the board with a reluctant grin.

"Bullshit," she shot back, rolling her eyes.

"I have a lot of really nasty words up here, Hale." Emmett tapped his temple, eyebrows raised. "I just didn't want to upstage you."

She grabbed the board and angled it toward the box, letting the tiles fall in. Setting everything into the box, her mouth curved into a teasing smile as she looked sideways at him. He was watching her, his beer bottle pressed lightly against his bottom lip. "Keep telling yourself that, McCarty. I saw that sweet little blush creep up your neck a few times."

"It's hot in here," he said by way of explanation, eyes lingering on her as he took a long pull from the bottle.

Rosalie felt his words settle low in her stomach, felt the heat slide down her spine. It was amazing how they could go from light and teasing one moment to this – gazes locked, unspoken words and wanting swirling in the air between them. They both knew their time together tonight was limited, and for the next five days nonexistent, but that made what they _couldn't _do exactly what she _wanted _to do. Their game and his smile and the way he'd been looking at her all night hadn't helped her frame of mind at all. The pull she felt to him was growing every day, but tonight it was more potent, an ache that she felt deep in her bones.

Trying to distract herself, Rosalie pivoted on her knees, moving toward the behemoth media console that held an equally behemoth television, and slid the Scrabble game back into the drawer she'd seen Emmett pull it from earlier.

She started to turn but felt a gust of cool air and then solid warmth as Emmett's arm wrapped around her waist. He folded her into him, her back to his chest, and his breath moved her body with his, a soft undulation of back and forth.

"Do you have time for a movie or do you have to go?" he murmured against the juncture of her neck and shoulder. She shivered, her hand covering his splayed across her stomach. His pinky finger searched for exposed skin and then found it right above the waistband of her jeans. He swirled patterns there, a feather-light touch that made her eyes and limbs go heavy, made that ache intensify.

She swallowed. Desire rushed through her hot and quick and she forced her voice into steadiness. "I could be persuaded to stay for a while."

His mouth moved up her neck, the tip of his nose blazing a trail for his lips and tongue. She could see their reflection in the darkened TV screen, the way he was curved into her, how perfectly they fit like this. Her hands drifted down, finding a solid foundation against the outside of his thighs. "What time do you have to be at the airport again?"

Her breath faltered when his teeth found the sensitive skin at her jaw line and then her earlobe. "Fu…five."

She felt warm, wet mouth and hot breath on her skin and it spread goose bumps and heat and need all the way through her. Rosalie pressed back into him ass-first and his low, almost inaudible moan made her thighs tense. "Short movie, then."

"Short," she repeated, unable to find her own words.

"Which one?" She could hear the laughter in his voice, though it was tight and breathless.

Rosalie's hand fumbled for a random DVD, pulling it out and handing it to him. Another one clattered out with it and bounced off her leg before landing on the floor. She almost laughed when she recognized the cover as she shoved it back onto the shelf- _Bull Durham. _A quick, hazy scan of his library showed that he had quite a collection of sports movies, but the irony of this one falling into her lap – literally – didn't escape her. It made her think of Mac, though the thoughts were abstract and jumbled. Her brain was slowly shutting down, overwhelmed by feel and sound.

She watched through half-closed eyes as Emmett set up the movie, still holding onto her, trapping her against him. They were still for a moment while the previews started, the cadence of his breath measuring hers – short but not quite gasping, ragged.

Rosalie weaved her fingers his, a slow slip of skin on skin. He shifted behind her and she turned her head until her mouth was close, so close, to the corner of his. He turned, too, and their mouths brushed, grazed, opened together but barely touched. It was just air and warmth and anticipation for one agonizing moment until his tongue ran along her bottom lip, a signal that he wanted more. She gave it and took, too, her hand moving up to his face and then further into his hair, pulling him closer and deeper, twisting in his lap until she was straddling him.

The previews were continuing on without them, background noise to Rosalie's stilted sighs and the low rumbles coming from Emmett's chest and throat. Their mouths moved together, lips and tongue, the gentle bite of teeth against supple skin, before finding other places to explore. His hands were mapping out the curves of her body, drifting with purpose from her ass to the small of her back, up along her hips until they were at her shoulders, nudging off her cardigan. She shook it off her wrists and he pulled back, his dark eyes wandering over the skin her strapless top underneath revealed.

He grinned, sweet and wicked, his fingers tracing her exposed collarbone and moving down, teasing over the slope of her breast.

"Oh my," she breathed with a shaky smirk. His eyes flashed with recognition as he continued his path, his smile falling away, lips slightly parted. When she felt the warmth of his palm through her top, the pressure of his hand and fingers, her smile disappeared, too, and they met in the middle again, kissing with increased fervor.

He slipped away from her lips, moving to her jaw. There was no way to describe the sensation of him touching her, how it felt like he was touching her _everywhere_. All she could think was, _so good, so good, so good. _

"Fuck, Rose." Emmett's voice was a whisper-groan into her hair. "I want you."

Her toes curled into the carpet, her fingers into the fabric of his shirt, and the chant turned to, _can't stop, can't stop, can't stop._

Rosalie didn't notice the music at first, so immersed was she in the delicious friction happening between them, but when an unmistakable voice intoned from the television they both stilled.

There was silence for a moment and then, "You put on _Austin Powers_?"

Rosalie pulled back, raising an indignant eyebrow at Emmett. "You _own Austin Powers_?"

They stared at one another while Dr. Evil continued his ridiculous monologue. Emmett sucked in his bottom lip, his hands still gripping her hips. His hair was all over the place from her hands, his eyes heavy-lidded and mouth a tempting cherry red, but any hint of a mood was shattered when the theme music started up.

He started laughing first, deep, from-the-gut laughter that spurred hers on. She let out a snort and clapped her hand over her mouth, looking over her shoulder as Mike Myers, accidental cock block that he was, frolicked on-screen.

"I'm sorry," she gasped through her laughter. "I didn't even look at what I chose."

Emmett affected a British accent, which, while funny, was also kind of a turn-on. "Do I make you horny, baby?" He pulled her against his chest, nuzzling his nose and lips against her ear. "Do I?"

"You can't help yourself, can you?" Rosalie replied, rolling her eyes heavenward.

"With you? Never."

She pulled back, interlacing her fingers behind his neck. He grinned at her, his gaze still a little heavy but clearer now. "Maybe it was a sign. I have to be up so early tomorrow and I'm going to be dragging ass as it is…" She trailed off, barely believing her own words, and one side of his mouth quirked high.

"I get it, Rose." He brushed a wayward strand of hair from her face and the look on his face was gentle, affectionate. "I meant it when I said I want you, but I want you when I can have you for more than an hour." His voice dipped low. "What I want to do will take much longer than that."

Rosalie groaned, dropping her head into the crook of his neck. "Stop right there. Not another word. I'm going to be going crazy until Friday as it is."

"You will?"

She didn't miss the hopeful note in his voice and she pressed her lips against his pulse point. "I will. I don't know if you've noticed, Em, but I kind of really like you."

Emmett's soft laughter vibrated in his chest and his arms tightened around her. "That has come to my attention."

"That's not the only thing that's come to attention," she teased, wiggling her hips against his.

It was his turn to groan. "No more. I've had enough boner jokes to last me a lifetime."

"Oh, fine," Rosalie replied with a huff. "I think I used all the ones I found on Google anyway."

Emmett snorted and she could almost feel his eyes rolling. "You're such a nice girl, Rosalie Hale."

"I know," she sighed.

They were quiet for a minute, arms and legs still tangled. Rosalie's eyes went heavy as Emmett's fingers danced lightly up and down the length of her spine. She could have happily stayed in this position forever, feeling the warmth and solidness of him around her, wrapped up in his arms, safe and wanted.

"I really like you, too, you know," he murmured.

A smile spread across her lips, slow and sleepy. Happy. "I know."

**-0-0-0-**

Rosalie arrived at the airport the next morning, barely awake. She felt like she had the starring role in _Weekend At Bernie's_; some invisible force was holding her body up, had pushed her out of her deliciously warm bed after only a few hours of sleep, gotten her showered and dressed and out the door into the quiet pre-dawn morning, where a town car had been waiting for her in the driveway.

Once checked in for her flight, she settled into a chair at the gate, triple-shot espresso in hand, and pulled out her phone. She'd gotten home too late and had frankly been too wound up after her date with Emmett to check her email. Even after she'd gotten in bed, all she could think about was Emmett – how he felt, the way he kissed, how they'd turned a proverbial corner in their relationship. And not physically, though they'd danced at the edge of that precipice, too.

Though she'd been slowly opening up to Emmett, last night was the first time that hehad truly opened up to her_. _He'd let her see a part of him that she knew very few people had seen, had let himself be vulnerable. She knew more than anyone how scary that could be, particularly for someone who protected himself as fiercely as Emmett did. It made the fact that he'd told her what the phone call was about, that he let her take care of him and give him advice, that much more telling.

It made what was happening between them that much more important and solid.

She had no idea how she was going to make it through the week with last night fresh in her mind. She'd be replaying all aspects of it on a constant loop.

With a sigh, she opened up her email and saw an alert. Mac had messaged her at two in the morning.

"Late night with Bird, huh?" she murmured with a smile. All of her advice and confidence boosting had worked if that time stamp was any indication.

She laughed when she saw what was in the message body, feeling suddenly more awake.

He'd gone back to pictures, maybe because he was too exhausted to think of anything else. Or maybe because, in this case, a picture _was _worth a thousand words.

It was simple, just a picture of one of those old-school yellow smiley faces. Rosalie shook her head and looked out the window, thinking for a moment about what to say. She was floating – from lack of sleep and from Emmett, from the feeling that was settling in her chest and heart, something that felt like love.

She smiled and went back to her phone, the thing that connected her and Mac, what would connect her and Emmett until she was back.

_Mac, _

_I see we're back to pictures. I didn't know you were the inspiration behind such an iconic image. Have you been able to wipe that smile off your face since you met Bird? Didn't think so!_

_Speaking of birds, I'm an early one today. Really, though, birds have nothing on me lately. I've been flying high. You're not the only one who had a good night. _

_Talk soon, Chuckles. _

_Lil_

_

* * *

_

**As always, this is for lookingforhoofprints. LightStarDusting is our illustrious beta (and cute, too!). **

**We'll be posting again on Monday – a little Valentine's Day treat. :) See you soon! **


	11. Kiss That One Goodbye, It's Outta Here

**Happy Valentines Day!**

* * *

**Chapter 11 - Kiss That One Goodbye – It's Outta Here**

A week without Rosalie would have been intolerable, were it not for a little event known as The World Series.

As hard as it was to live for stolen phone calls and emails, in a way, Emmett knew it was for the best. Rosalie left for New York on Sunday morning, leaving him Monday and Tuesday to bury himself in prep before catching a flight to San Francisco. Given the easy flight, the _Times_ didn't think twice about sending their hotshot sports reporter to cover The World Series, especially not when it was such a quick trip.

So he and Rosalie stole time where they could, catching phone calls here and there, along with silly texts. Each morning, Emmett awoke to completely random photos: the sun rising over Brooklyn, as taken from a hotel window 52 stories above Manhattan, or a lipstick kiss against a bathroom mirror, Rosalie and her iPhone in the background, smiling.

He reciprocated, sending her snapshots from PacBell and his press pass embossed with the 2010 World Series logo, something that still awed Emmett.

"I wish my granda were alive to see this," he said. Rosalie had called him from her hotel room after he landed on Tuesday. It was late in New York, and she was overly nostalgic, talking about her family. It sparked something in Emmett, and he found himself confessing a ridiculous little hope he'd always carried with him, even if there was no way for it to come true. "I always wanted to take him to a baseball game, and I never got the chance."

"You miss him a lot, don't you?" Rosalie asked. Her voice was soft, and if he closed his eyes, Emmett could pretend she was just across town, or home in Seattle, not three thousand miles and three time zones away. The distance was visceral, and he ached with how much he missed her. It wasn't that different than the pain he felt after his grandparents left, but it didn't scare him now, at least not like it had then.

_Just a few more days_, he reminded himself. _You'll be with her again in a few days._

"I miss a lot of things, Hale."

She laughed and then stifled a yawn.

"Go to bed. You've got a long day tomorrow. I'll send you some pictures of warm-ups. Maybe one of me standing next to Cliff Lee to prove there is someone out there taller than I am."

"I'd rather be there with you," she admitted, then paused. "Think they'd let me run the bases?"

Emmett laughed; remembering the way Rosalie looked, bounding around the bases on their first 'non-date' date. It felt like a lifetime ago.

"Night, Blondie. Kick butt tomorrow."

"Night, Em," she sighed, hesitating for a moment before blurting out "I miss you."

Then the line went dead, and the distance grew exponentially.

Not ready to go to bed, Emmett pulled up email. Lily had been quiet this week too, buried in work, she said. While not in the same way, he missed the emails from her almost as much as he missed Rosalie. She'd become such a huge part of his life, a cheerleader and a sounding board when he most needed it, and it was clear that something was going on her life. She was distant, distracted even, and she didn't nail him when he screwed up a few days before, confusing Pedro Cerrano, the Voodoo worshiping Cuban with Jose from Bull Durham. Normally, she would have been all over that, and for some ridiculous reason, it had Emmett worried.

_Lil-_

_Something's been bugging me for the last few days._

_I mixed up quotes – Bull Durham and Major League. You didn't call me on it. Did Jobu get you, or did you give up on me?_

_If so, I'll go buy a bucket of chicken now. No way am I willing to trade you during the season._

_Mac_

He hit send, then closed his laptop and turned off the light, suddenly acutely aware of just how alone he was, and how much he didn't want to be

**-0-0-0-**

When Emmett woke up on Thursday morning, there was a text from Rosalie. No photo, just a message.

_I'll be home with you in less than 48 hours._

He read it twice, and then fist pumped. The gesture was a little too exuberant and it sent a lamp crashing into the wall. Emmett caught it before it could break. Rock stars might get away with trashing hotel rooms, but he doubted the _Times_ would look kindly on a room damage fee when he submitted his expenses.

On the cab ride to the hotel, he read his emails, including a reply from Lily.

_Mac – _

_Sorry, my heads all over the place, and honestly, I've spent the last few nights staying up to read a book of poetry I picked up at a bookstore. _

_Yes, poetry. I should be working, should be preparing for big presentations, but I can't sleep and this is filling the void. This week is killing me, and all I can think is it's almost over and I can be with him again. Do you ever feel that way, like it's all you can do to get through a day or survive until the next phone call?_

_Lil_

Emmett smiled, nodding his head as he tapped out his reply.

_Lil – _

_Poetry, eh? Did you have wine? Was there a guy playing bongos? Did he wear a beret?_

_At bare minimum, please tell me it was Walt Whitman?_

_Anyway, yeah, I totally get you. She's __the__ one, and I am living in the moment, just like you said._

_It's fucking awesome._

_Mac_

He went to the park and watched the game, typing up notes and soaking in the atmosphere, going back and forth between wishing for his granda and Rosalie. They both would have loved this.

When the game was over and he was on the way back to his hotel, there was a text from Rosalie and a message from Lily. Both made him smile and feel good to be alive.

_Meet me at my house tomorrow afternoon – I land at 5:30. There's a key under the planter at the backdoor._

And

_Mac – _

_I'll have you know that Pablo Neruda is greater than Walt Whitman, I don't care what Annie says. _

_Promise me one thing – life is too short. My guy has taught me that, and I am trying to live that way. You need to do the same. If she's the one, tell her. Trust me and jump, it will all be worth it._

_Your pal, Lil_

**-0-0-0-**

Emmett rolled over, his head aching from exhaustion. The clock on his nightstand read 1:18 pm.

"Fuck," he muttered, then dug the heels of his palms into his eyes in an attempt to clear away the last vestiges of sleep. It'd been a late night and an early wakeup, the security line at the airport moving so slow he'd almost missed his flight home. By the time Emmett stumbled in the door, it was 10:30 in the morning, and he'd headed straight for bed, desperate for a few hours of sleep. He'd left his phone on the kitchen counter and pulled the pillow over his head, closing out all light and sound.

But now it was almost 1:30, and Rosalie would be home in just a few hours. He'd promised he would meet her at the house, and he needed to shower and do something to wake up so he wasn't a staggering idiot. It didn't leave him a lot of time. He climbed out of bed and took the elevator to the fitness room in the basement of his complex. Thirty minutes on the stationary bike was all he could spare, and hopefully it would be enough.

Once upon a time, he would have run, using the peace and quiet to clear his head. Age and a surgically repaired knee plagued with early arthritis didn't grant him that luxury, so while he pedaled no were fast, he focused back over the previous week. Six long, lonely days were almost over, and Emmett had felt every single minute she'd been gone. It was more than just her physical presence, although pressing her up against a wall and kissing her so hard she tore a small rip in his t-shirt was pretty much damn perfection. No, it was so much simpler than that. He didn't have to be in the same room, not even the same building as Rosalie Hale, but just knowing she was there, that she had somehow dropped into his life and stuck had left a mark. She was under his skin, and no matter what happened, next week, next year, next millennia, that wouldn't go away.

He was finally starting to believe that even _he_ couldn't screw this up.

As he'd told Lily, Rosalie got him, and somehow saw through all the stupid little shit to make him better. He'd fallen apart and shown her the side of him that no one, outside of his sisters, ever saw. Instead of running away, she'd stepped towards him, wrapping him up in warmth and laughter just like his nan had. She didn't try to fix him or placate him, and by doing so, she simply made him better, something no one else had ever had the time or the power to do. She could see past everything, the defense mechanisms, the laughter and the self-deprecating manner to what lie underneath.

She saw it all, and even with that, she didn't turn away.

Emmett stretched his hands high over his head and stared out the window. thinking about his last email conversation with Lily. She was right – time was too short. It would be easy to wait for the moment, just like he always had. But sometimes, the moment didn't come. He'd always assumed he would take his granda to a World Series game, or take his parents to dinner where they would all sit and laugh, and his dad would hold his mom's hand and be happy. He'd waited, and he'd missed out, or he'd been too busy trying to engineer things that would never happen. In doing so, he'd missed the important things, the day to day, and he wasn't going to do that again.

Emmett laced his hands and slipped them behind his head. The sun was just starting to leak in through the closed blinds, the soft, golden light hinting at a glorious fall afternoon. In his mind, he could see the maple trees behind Rose's house, the three little saplings she was so proud of with their crimson leaves fluttering in the morning breeze. They weren't any brighter than the maple trees around his grandparents him in Tennessee; they were just striking because they were different and completely unexpected.

Just like her.

"You're a sports writer, asshole," Emmett said to himself. "Finding fucking similes in trees. Just admit it. Say what you're too chicken shit to say."

He stared hard at the ceiling, turning the concept over and over in his mind as the sun rose in the East.

Lily was right. He wasn't his parents, and he wasn't doomed to recreate their mistakes. He didn't want to go back to life before Rosalie. Sure, it may have been all well and good, a career, a life, but it was all the same. It took that vibrant splash of red to shock him out of complacency. She was in his blood now, in his mind. He couldn't go back.

Not back to sleep, not back into hibernation, not back to the passing whims of what had once been fine. There was only forward now, and for the first time ever, Emmett was confident in what came next.

He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and practiced saying the words.

"I love you, Rosalie Hale."

He repeated it again, smiling at the warmth that spread through his body, and no doubt the flush that colored his cheeks.

There would be no more monochrome in his life, all thanks to her.

**-0-0-0-**

Balthazar's giant muzzle was pressed against the door as Emmett fiddled with the lock, the dog's chuffs and heavy breathing fogging up the lower portion of the window. He hardly gave Emmett any time before jumping up on him, the dog's giant paws resting easily against Emmett's shoulders.

"Easy, Baz," Emmett said, scratching behind the dog's ears. It earned him a sloppy wet kiss of approval. "Okay, not quite who I was hoping for a kiss from, but I'll let it roll if you don't tell the boss woman. Besides, I just hooked you up with a cool ass nickname, so you owe me. Bro's before ho's and all that."

He lowered Baz to the ground and gave the dog another affectionate tap on the head. The clock on the stove read 4:53. Rosalie's flight was scheduled to land at 5:30, assuming it was on time.

"Well big guy, your mom should be home in a little under two hours. Want to catch a quick nap with me?"

Baz twirled around in a circle, his long tail beating a frenetic rhythm against anything solid, including Emmett's leg.

"Come on," Emmett said, and led Baz into the living room. There was a throw draped over the back of the couch, and a pillow propped in the far corner. He plopped down and kicked off his shoes before propping his feet up on the coffee table and patting his leg. Baz hopped up, turning in a circle twice before lying down, half on the couch, half on Emmett.

"Make yourself comfy, why don't you?" he said. The dog looked up, all droopy eyes and lowered ears, knowing full well that Emmett wouldn't send him away. "You better not snore," he warned Baz, then slipped the pillow behind his head and closed his eyes.

It was the pressure that woke him up - the slightest shifting of the couch, then something soft brushing against his face. Emmett reached out to pat Baz and settle him down, but instead of course puppy hair, he found something cool and smooth, like heavy silk and cotton.

When he opened his eyes, Rosalie stood over him, one knee propped on the couch. She wore a plaid trench coat and black dress, and her hair was windblown and wild.

"Hi," he said, ready to ask her about her flight, but Rosalie cut him off, her mouth finding his as she slipped out of her trench. It fell on the floor with a quiet thud, and Baz hopped off the couch with a loud sniff.

Neither of them paid much attention.

Shifting her weight, Rosalie pressed her hands harder against the back of the couch as she settled into Emmett's lap, her knees coming to rest on either side of his hips. Something snagged on the mesh of his sweatpants, but she didn't stop kissing him, and her lip gloss tasted like lemon drops.

"Hey," Emmett said. He placed his hands on either side of Rosalie's face, holding her in place so he could pull back to look at her. Her eyes were bright, and there was the faintest smudge underneath her eyes. He couldn't tell if it was makeup or dark circles. "Don't you go away again, do you hear me?"

She smiled, and it was soft and warm. Emmett was amazed, trying to correlate the cool blonde he'd first met in the bar to this woman sitting in his lap. She was so smart and strong, and she'd seen the worst of him and still came back. She was Helen of Troy, and she was his.

"I love you," Emmett said. The declaration was low, hardly above a whisper, but the room was so quiet someone standing in the doorway could have heard him. Rosalie sighed, a gentle hum of approval, and he could feel her smile when she kissed him again. Her fingers tangled in his hair, her mouth urgent, and her body warm against his. All the fear, all the apprehension that had spooled in his body for weeks melted away, and there was only one thing that existed. Them, here and now.

He was only half conscious of Rose, shifting around in his lap. One arm was still draped around his neck, but her other bumped awkwardly against his chest. He was about to ask her what was wrong, but Rosalie grabbed his wrist, pulling it away from her hip. Somehow, she'd worked her dress open, unknotting the belt that wrapped the whole thing together. She guided his hand inside, back to her hip, but instead of silk it was skin, hot and smooth against his hand, along with the rougher texture of lace.

"Fu-" Emmett started to say, but she cut him off yet again, her mouth hot and demanding as her teeth scraped across his lower lip. His other hand slipped inside her dress, moving slowly up her side, and then slipping around to press against the flat of her back. Without warning, he moved, flipping Rosalie over so that she was flat against the couch. Whatever had snagged against his sweatpants pulled, and there was a quiet pop, and then he was free. Rosalie's leg snaked up, over his hip, and he could feel the pressure of a heel in the back of his thigh, the stiletto hooking the soft material and dragging it down.

"G?" he asked, his voice raspy.

"Out with friends, not home til late," she said. Her hands had joined the pressure from her heel, pulling down his sweats, and hooking her fingers in the elastic and dragging them down. It was the exact same position Rosalie had caught Garrett and Kate in weeks before, but he couldn't stop to think about that. He couldn't stop.

He didn't want to.

They shifted and squirmed, hands and mouths exploring as clothing was pushed down, pulled up or forced to the side. He tried to stop once, ready to ask about protection, but Rosalie mumbled something about being covered, and then it didn't really matter.

From day one, they'd been on a collision course, flirting and learning and slowly falling into something bigger than they knew what to do with. It wasn't roses and champagne and pretty words, but for the first time in his life, Emmett realized that none of that really mattered. He was making love to this woman, who'd caught him, saved him, and made him better. Not just fixing him, but helping him become a better man. Just like everything about them, it was impromptu and unplanned and completely brilliant.

He was conscious of every movement, of the way Rosalie hips aligned with his, and how tightly she wound her arms around his shoulders, her elbows digging into his the muscles at the base of his neck as if she could pull him even further down into her. She consumed him, holding on to him, even when he couldn't do any more than let go.

They lay, winded and sweaty on the couch, where Emmett was suddenly conscious of his sweatpants, tangled around his ankles, and the cool breeze that carried through the room.

"Hi," Rosalie said, pushing his hair back from his forehead. "Are you hungry?" Emmett laughed, and nuzzled into her neck, his teeth scraping along the exposed skin.

She snorted at his blatant inference. "You are such a child. I meant for food."

"I'm a growing boy," he said, biting back another comment, but not skimping on the smile.

"Oh my god, you are horrible!" she said, pushing at him with feigned indignation. "You just wanted to get me into bed!"

"Couch."

"Same difference."

"Says the guy with his naked ass in the air," Rosalie said as she smacked his bare thigh. "I'll make you a deal. Order takeout. I'm going to go wash all the airplane grime off me. Then I can teach you about picnics in bed."

"How about this," Emmett countered. He sat up, pulling her back into his lap, their bodies both sweaty. "I'll help you wash the grime off and then make you the best omelet you've ever had-"

"In bed," Rosalie finished for him.

"What are you, a fortune cookie?"

"Are you saying no?"

"To you?" Emmett feigned horror. "Never."

She stood, and extended her hand to help Emmett up off the couch. Her black dress hung loosely around her body, and he could finally see what had snagged him earlier.

"Nice boots," he said, tapping the black leather that wrapped snuggly around her calf. Just below the calf there was a large silver clasp. "I think the buckle tore hole in my favorite sweats."

Rosalie stepped back, her boots tapping against the floor. Her grin was absolutely devilish. "I guess that would make these my fuck me boots, wouldn't you say?"

She scrambled backwards, but Emmett was too fast, launching forward off the couch and scooping her up. Their laughter echoed through the house, and they paid no attention to Baz as they made their way back to her bedroom.

Contrary to Emmett's promise, the omelet never happened. Instead, all the hot water was exhausted in the longest shower known to man. A bottle of body wash, more than halfway full, was discarded on the tile floor of the shower, along with a discarded loofah.

It was probably the cleanest Emmett had ever been.

Somewhere around ten, Rosalie called out for pizza. They sat on her bed, the flat sheet and comforter long since discarded on the floor, eating slices of Hawaiian pizza. A bottle of wine and two glasses sat on the dresser next to a bottle of lemon verbena lotion. Clothing was strewn across the floor, and Rosalie had given up on her clothes, putting on Emmett's Vanderbilt Baseball sweatshirt, which hit her mid-thigh.

She'd never looked so good.

"I hate baseball," she protested, then took another bite of pizza. "How dare they play games the weekend I get back. Don't they know you need to be in bed with me all day?"

Emmett laughed, and ran his finger along her shin, silently agreeing. It was the only time he could ever remember not wanting to watch or play baseball.

"Five more games max. You can survive that, can't you? One week, and we've got…" he hesitated for a moment before continuing, a smile of childish delight breaking over his face. "We've got the rest of our lives."

**-0-0-0-**

After the pizza was gone and the kitchen christened (bringing the total to four), Emmett curled around Rosalie in bed. He was exhausted but content, a warmth filling his chest and tugging him down into sleep. Neither was willing to let go of the day, and they struggled to stay awake, touching and talking, even though their words began to slur.

"You're going to be so tired tomorrow," Rosalie murmured, her voice soft.

"Be there when I get home tomorrow night," he said. "I don't know if I can sleep alone anymore."

"Are you afraid of the dark?"

Emmett buried his face in Rosalie's hair, breathing deep as he sank lower towards sleep. "Mmm, want you to read me stories to sleep, Rose Red."

"And what would those be?" she said with a laugh, as sleepy as his own. "Fairy stories or tall tales like Casey at the Bat?"

Emmett's answer came easily, the last words that passed his lips before he drifted off to sleep. "Read me Whitman. Or Neruda. And keep me warm."

In his dreams, the sun was shining, and a round, white disc of light flew across the driveway. The smell of cookies filled the air, and his grandparents laughter mixed with Rosalie's as a baseball game played on the radio.

Emmett took aim at the ball, and he swung for the fences.

It was outta there.

* * *

**Much love to LightStarDusting, who tolerates silliness and scattered brained girls at times. As always, this is for Lookingforhoofprints, but I think she'd be willing to share her Valentine with all of you.**

**Two outs and the bases are loaded – what comes next, a slider? A curveball? An out or a homerun? Keep an eye out for more this week – you'll soon know.**


	12. The Moment of Truth

**Chapter 12 – The Moment of Truth**

It took a moment for Emmett's words to sink in.

Rosalie was practically asleep, dead-tired in the best way. Muscles that she didn't even know she had ached, her lips puffy and a little raw, her skin still buzzing from all of the attention Emmett had given it. He'd covered every square inch of her with palms and fingertips and mouth, and now he was snoring softly into the back of her neck, his breath deep and steady.

And now _she _was wide awake, what he'd just said to her echoing around the silent room.

"_Read me Whitman. Or Neruda. And keep me warm."_

Her phone was lying on the nightstand, but all she could do was stare at it. Emmett's arm was around her waist, his hand splayed against her stomach, and if she moved, she'd wake him.

She could feel her heart pounding against her chest. It was loud, panicked, pulsing out a staccato beat that sounded suspiciously like _Mac, Mac, Mac, Mac. _

There was no way.

It was impossible.

But even as she thought that, Rosalie was thinking about all of her conversations with Mac and particularly their last interaction the day before. They'd talked about Whitman and Neruda. She'd told him to tell Bird how he felt about her.

Emmett had told her he loved her.

They seemed like coincidences. They _had _to be. She didn't have any evidence to suggest that what she was thinking was even a remote possibility. Still, something in her gut pulled at her. She couldn't just brush it off.

She also couldn't do anything tonight, not with the human Snuggie that was Emmett draped over her (not that she was complaining). So she forced herself to relax into him, to enjoy the feeling of him in her bed. She thought about coming home to find him snuggled up with Balthazar, how right it looked and felt. She understood now how Garrett and Kate had gotten carried away on the couch and vowed not to bring it up anymore when they were hanging out in the living room watching TV.

She thought about how, no matter what, Emmett loved her and she loved him. He had said it and she had shown him, and it was a part of her now.

And so she fell asleep, trying hard not to think about how Emmett and Mac could very well be the same person.

**-0-0-0-**

The sun warmed Rosalie as it streamed in through the window the next morning. The first thing she saw when her eyes fluttered open was Emmett next to her. He was on his stomach, his arms underneath his pillow. The comforter was half on, half off of him and she raised herself up on an elbow, her eyes taking advantage of all the skin he was giving her access to. With a smile, she ran her finger down the dip in his back, watching the muscles move and strain as he slowly opened his eyes.

"Well, good morning to you."

"Mmhmm," he sighed with a sleepy smile, his eyes drifting shut again.

Rosalie hovered over him, her lips next to his ear. "Wake up, sleepyhead."

He shook his head, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her down with him. She buried her face in his neck, breathing in his sleep-warmed skin. "I like being in your bed," he argued, tightening his hold on her.

"Don't you want breakfast?" she asked, already giving up on moving for the next few minutes. Food could wait if it meant being twisted up with Emmett.

"Well, now that you mention it…" he trailed off and shifted onto his back, bringing her with him so that she was stretched out on top of him.

"You're horrible," she laughed but didn't complain when his hands skimmed over her sides, drawing her sleep shirt up with them.

Twenty minutes later they rolled out of bed, more rumpled than they'd been when they woke up. Emmett threw Rosalie the Vanderbilt sweatshirt that had somehow ended up on the other side of the room and they watched each other unabashedly, smirking, as they pulled their clothes on.

After they'd both brushed their teeth, Rosalie drifted back to her nightstand. She reached for her phone instinctively, as she did most mornings. This morning she was anxious, though. Would she have a new message from Mac? And what would it mean if she didn't? She hadn't heard from him since she'd sent her last message nearly two days ago, which, before Emmett's statement last night, wouldn't have necessarily been a strange thing.

But he'd planted a seed and it only seemed to be growing. Rosalie was trying to justify the strange feeling bubbling up in her stomach again, thinking of reasons why he wouldn't have written her back. There were an infinite number of things that could have prevented him from responding, all of them innocuous, innocent, not connected to her or Emmett. Hell, maybe there was a message waiting in her inbox as she stood there, dwelling over the fact that there might _not _be one.

Suddenly a hand landed on her hip and she jumped, her heart pounding in surprise and what felt a little like guilt. Emmett stepped up behind her, sweeping her hair aside. She closed her eyes, her fingers closing around the phone, as he kissed up the back of her neck, spreading shivers like tiny little earthquakes up her spine.

"Coming?" he asked and she felt his wicked smile against her skin.

She snorted, pushing back her anxiety, and turned around. He looked scruffy and gorgeous, still a little drowsy. "I'll be there in a sec. The cereal is in the cabinet above the fridge, unless you want oatmeal. Oh, and the paper should be outside if you want it."

Emmett wrinkled his nose. "I'm not much of an oatmeal guy."

Rosalie wrinkled her nose back, mocking him. "Fine, I'm not a good sharer anyway."

"I'm _shocked_," Emmett replied. She pinched his side and he let out a laughing yelp. He pressed a kiss against her temple and squeezed her hip before making his way toward the door.

"Oh hey, can you let Balthazar out?" Rosalie called after him. They'd shut Balthazar out of the bedroom last night, which she'd probably be paying for in doleful and petulant dog stares for the next couple of days. It would be worth it, though. Suddenly realizing your pet was staring at you while you were in the middle of having sex? Awkward. Rosalie had learned that lesson firsthand.

"Will do," he called back. She smiled after him for a long moment, reveling in having him here in her house, loving how comfortable he was and how comfortable _this _was. How right.

Her phone was a heavy weight in her hand, though, and she perched on the edge of the bed, her knee bouncing up and down as she navigated to her inbox. She waited, staring at the small script at the bottom that read _checking for mail_…, watched as her work inbox popped up with seven new emails (_ignore_, she thought) and her personal one popped up with two.

"It doesn't mean anything if he didn't write you, Rosalie," she muttered to herself, tapping her thumb against the screen. Her eyes didn't notice what the two new messages in her inbox were, only what they weren't.

Mac hadn't written.

She sat there for a long moment, staring at the lit-up screen of her phone. Her hand went to her collarbone and she rubbed instinctively, but the motion did nothing to settle her nerves. They were firmly knotted in her stomach, refusing to go away no matter how much she ignored them.

And she knew she couldn't ignore them until she got to the bottom of this, until she somehow knew for sure whether Mac was Emmett.

God, even _thinking _it sounded crazy. What if it was actually true?

The sound of clinking dishes and the smell of brewing coffee drifted down the hallway from the kitchen, pulling Rosalie out of her thoughts. No matter what, she couldn't do anything now, not while Emmett was here. She'd have to wait until she was alone to pore over the messages she and Mac had been exchanging for the past month, until she could try to start putting the puzzle pieces together.

Emmett was pouring two cups of coffee when she got to the kitchen and he turned at the sound of her padding in. She could hear Balthazar outside, playing in the leaves and barking happily. She must have looked off or dazed because his eyebrows pulled together in concern.

"You okay, babe?"

"Just fine," she replied with a shaky smile, taking a steaming mug from him. She took a sip, humming appreciatively.

He looked at her dubiously. "You sure?"

"I'm exhausted, McCarty. You thoroughly ravaged me," she teased, her grin melting into something that felt more easy and true. Emmett smiled brilliantly, his dimples appearing on either side of his mouth. She pulled him close and kissed each one, tapping her coffee cup against his. "Thanks for the coffee."

"You know how to fluff a guy's ego, calling me a sex god."

"Did I?"

He pursed his lips, moving his head from side to side thoughtfully. "Not in so many words, but the subtext was there."

Rosalie laughed, kissing him again, lingering this time. She could taste the rich coffee on his tongue and lips. "You're good, but I'm not sure you're _that _good." He definitely was. "We'll probably have to practice a lot to get you there."

"I'd be insulted, but you just guaranteed me more of what we did yesterday on the couch…" he trailed off, his mouth moving with hers as they both remembered what had happened then.

"And in the shower," Rosalie continued, biting Emmett's bottom lip lightly.

"And against that counter over there," Emmett said, nodding his head toward the sink.

"God, if Garrett and Kate ever find out, they're going to kill us."

Emmett laughed. "Not to burst your bubble, sweetheart, but I doubt the couch was an isolated incident."

"Definitely pretending you didn't say that."

As if on cue, Garrett stumbled into the kitchen, ricocheting off the doorway with his shoulder. Apparently his and Kate's happy hour had turned into happy all night long; he looked either horribly hung over or still drunk. He was wearing only pajama pants with, inexplicably, keyboard-playing cats on them. Sheet marks ran up and down the front of him, from hip to cheek, and his hair was a disaster, flattened on one side and sticking up in all directions on the other.

Emmett threw Rosalie a sly grin. She pursed her lips to hold in her laughter, watching Garrett shuffle toward the coffee pot.

"Morning, sunshine," Emmett said.

Garrett grunted in response.

"Late night?" Rosalie asked, tilting her head.

Garrett poured himself a cup of coffee, which looked to be a feat on par with climbing Mount Everest, then turned and leaned against the counter. He closed his eyes and swallowed. "Yes."

She couldn't help the snort that escaped and Emmett elbowed her in the side, though she could feel him shaking with barely contained laughter. "Where's Kate?"

Garrett waved a hand toward their bedroom weakly. "Bed."

"Are you capable of more than one-word responses?"

"No."

Rosalie looked her best friend up and down, eyebrow raised. "Damn, Charlie Sheen, how much did you drink last night?"

Garrett set down his coffee mug suddenly and, looking a little green, stalked out of the kitchen. They both listened to the sound of urgent footsteps, grinning at one another, followed by the telltale slam of the bathroom door.

"Dumb ass," she said with a laugh, shaking her head.

Emmett gave her a sidelong glance. "You say that with a lot of affection."

"It's kind of like how I call you a nice guy," she replied with a shrug.

"Well, I _am _a nice guy."

"You're _very_ nice, and you'd be even nicer if you'd put those long arms to good use and get my oatmeal for me."

"I like when you boss me around," he said, following her pointed finger to the cabinet next to the sink. She watched with a smile as he pulled down her container of oatmeal along with a box of Frosted Mini Wheats.

"Get used to it."

"I plan on it." She heard the smile in his voice before she saw it when he turned around, wide and warm like the morning sun.

After they'd gotten their breakfast ready, they settled at the kitchen table. A companionable silence settled around them while Emmett read the sports section. She wrapped her feet around his ankle and he kept one hand on her knee the entire time, his thumb sweeping back and forth over her knee.

For a second, she thought about just asking him. _Hey,_ _I know this sounds crazy, but are you Mac477? Because if so, you're not going to believe this…_

She had no idea how he'd react, though, if he'd think she was insane. If it wasn't him, she'd have to explain the whole story of posting her secret on the secrets blog, of striking up a friendship with a stranger who didn't feel like a stranger at all, who'd in a way become one of her closest friends.

And if it was him? She couldn't quite wrap her head around that yet. She had no proof either way and to bring it up to Emmett now seemed hasty and possibly disastrous. So she swallowed her words and ate her oatmeal. For now, this secret that was possibly theirs stayed only with her.

**-0-0-0-**

They spent all day together, a lazy Saturday making up for the time they'd been apart. Garrett and Kate finally emerged from their cave early in the afternoon, wincing from the movie Emmett and Rosalie were watching and from the sunlight streaming in through the window.

Rosalie loved being with Emmett. She felt more connected to him than ever after having to spend a week away from him, and especially after the homecoming she'd given him yesterday…and yesterday again. And last night. And this morning. That cheesy 70s song might as well have been playing on an endless loop in her head. Reuniting _did_ feel so good, as it turned out.

Still, she felt a small twinge of relief when she sat in front of her laptop that night, alone in the house save for Balthazar, who took up residence on her bed (_their_ bed, if he had any say). The situation with Mac-Maybe Emmett had been at the back of her mind all day, niggling at her brain and nerves, and she felt like she was going to explode if she didn't figure this out. Patience had never been a strong suit.

Rosalie pulled up the string of messages she and Mac had been lobbing back and forth since September, her heart hammering. She remembered getting his first message at the bar, remembered how Emmett had swooped in and saved her from that guy. Her frame of mind had been so different then. Her life had changed completely in the past six weeks because of what had happened with Emmett, but also because of Mac. He'd been a constant presence in her life, if only behind the screen of her computer.

She shot a quick glance at Balthazar, who had his chin resting on her comforter and staring at her as if to say, "Well?"

"Stop looking at me like that," she replied defensively. He blinked and she rolled her eyes. With a deep breath, she turned back to the computer and started digging.

An hour later, she was staring at the screen, slumped in her chair with one hand over her mouth.

_All signs point to yes_, she thought, still hardly believing it.

There was really no way she would have been able to see the signs, not if she hadn't been looking for them. Not until Emmett had waved one of them right in front of her face. Looking back at all of their correspondence, though, it made sense. God, even his username was a giant flashing light: Mac477. Mac, McCarty. Emmett was born in April of 1977. She'd had to go back to that first column she'd read to confirm it, had pulled it out from the drawer in her nightstand (she'd secretly saved the column, folded it up carefully and stuck it between the pages of a Paris guidebook). Sure enough, there it was in black and white, right at the top of the page.

They'd been falling in love at the same time, their timelines practically identical with dates on the same night; he'd mentioned being a big brother, talked about his 'girls' and hinted that his family life screwed with his perception of what a normal relationship was. The emails they'd exchanged with pictures of volcanoes and stunning storm clouds and nuclear explosions had been right after their epic date. At the time, she hadn't thought about it.

The names and the dates, the small little details that had escaped her were now glaringly bright. Even seeing the _Bull Durham_ DVD at his house hadn't sparked anything. She hadn't known what to look for then, though, and she did now. Now, she was seeing everything.

Rosalie was Bird. Mac was Emmett. They'd been talking through two different mediums, sharing parts of themselves in very different and yet very fundamental ways. To Emmett, Rosalie had given her heart, her body. To Mac, she had given her mind and thoughts, her fears.

And they were the same. Which really meant that she'd given this man everything, and that he'd done the same.

Her suspicions were only solidified when, in the middle of her research and little more than half an hour after Emmett had left, an alert popped up in her inbox.

She'd finally gotten that message from Mac.

_Lil, _

_I took your advice and told Bird. You were right; it was more than worth it. _

_You must hear that a lot – "you're right." How many times have you given me golden advice, Lil? I owe you big time for keeping me sane. You gave me the virtual slap I needed to get my head out of my ass and just go with it. _

_It's like what Annie said at the beginning of Bull Durham – it's a long season and you gotta trust. Baseball season's almost over - mixed emotions on that. Love the sport and seeing the first games of the World Series up close and personal was a blast, but it's also been a bitch on my travel schedule this week. But the ball season aside, it feels like something big is starting. _

_I know, I know, I sound like a pussy. Guess love will do that to you. I'm sure you know the feeling. _

_Mac_

After reading the message again, Rosalie picked up her phone and went to her recent calls, staring at Emmett's name. It was right at the top. She wanted to call him and tell him what she'd discovered, that out of all the people in this city – god, the world – they'd found each other not once but twice. How, despite the fact that this was crazy and weird and a little scary, it was also amazing.

But she wanted to tell him in person, not over the phone or through the message system on the secrets blog. She wanted him to see that this was real with his own eyes, and there was only one way she could think to make that happen.

So instead she set her phone down and went back to her computer and typed out a message to Mac. To Emmett.

_Mac_,

_If you really think you owe me, how about treating me to a cup of coffee? We're in the same city and it seems a little crazy that we're still stuck behind these computer screens. I'm free tomorrow if you are, and I promise I won't make you buy me one of those overpriced custom coffee drinks - mocha chocolate nonfat double-shot lattes or whatever it is. _

_You can say no, of course, but I really hope you don't._

_Lil _

Rosalie didn't have to wait long for his answer, which was good since she doubted her heart would have been able to take the suspense for much longer. It was pounding hard and fast against her chest, practically out of her skin.

_Lil,_

_Coffee's the least of what I owe you, but it's a start. Is tomorrow morning okay? _

_You pick the spot and I'll be there. _

_Mac_

If he was freaked out by her sudden invitation, he didn't show it. Maybe he'd been thinking about it, too. She'd had passing thoughts of meeting up with Mac, even before this revelation, but had never acted on it. It had almost seemed like a breach of their friendship, taking what was contained, special and safe and exposing it to the real world.

But that didn't really matter now. Rosalie shot off a response quickly, leaving little hints like breadcrumbs that Emmett probably wouldn't even know to look for. She hoped against hope that she was doing the right thing, that this was the right way.

_There's a Starbucks at First and Yesler. Let's meet there at ten. I'll be wearing a red scarf so you can spot me. _

_Lily _

**-0-0-0-**

Rosalie woke the next morning at four. And then again at five. By six-thirty, she gave up and instead watched the sunlight spread across the ceiling, knowing that in just a few hours, everything would be different. Whether it was good different or bad different remained to be seen, but she knew this would change things once she revealed herself as Lily. After what had happened between them on Friday, what Emmett had said to her and done to her and how their relationship had morphed into something decidedly serious and permanent, she wasn't sure how this would further shape them and that scared her.

As she went about her morning routine, she vacillated between wanting to fast-forward time and wanting to stop it altogether. The feeling was annoyingly oppressive, which did nothing for her nerves, something both Garrett and Kate seemed to notice. They'd given her a wide berth at breakfast.

Still, Rosalie knew it was only a matter of time before Garrett said something. That time happened to be as she was trying to rush out the door. Despite the fact that she'd woke up so early, she was now running late.

"Dude, are you okay?"

"What?" she snapped, looking over her shoulder at Garrett. He was leaning against her doorway, a befuddled look on her face.

"You've been acting weird all morning," he continued as she ripped apart her bed in search of her phone. "Like…"

Rosalie found the offending piece of technology – she'd fallen asleep with it in her hand last night – and held it up triumphantly before shooting him a look. "Choose your words carefully, Adams, this isn't the time."

"Twitchy."

"Don't you mean bitchy?" she asked, eyebrow raised. Another wave of anxiety crested over her unbidden and she let out a sharp sigh.

"Rosie, I'm serious," Garrett said, putting on his I'm Serious face for the rare occasion. She'd started rubbing at her collarbone without thinking and he nodded to her hand, his eyes worried. "You seem _off._ You cool? Is everything okay with Em?"

Her breath caught at the mention of Emmett's name and she coughed, waving her hand casually in the air. "Yeah, we're fine. I'm fine, I'm just…" _Nervous. Terrified. Not sure if I'm doing this the right way or if he'll completely freak out or – _"I'm in a hurry. I'm late for a…thing."

Garrett nodded sagely. "Oh, a thing. Right."

Rosalie rolled her eyes and brushed past him, slapping him lightly on the cheek as she went. "It'll be fine."

She forced herself to believe those words as she drove downtown, her palms damp against the leather steering wheel. Even loud music couldn't drown out her louder thoughts, though, and she was both relieved and increasingly anxious as she pulled into the parking lot down the street from Starbucks. She stayed in the car for a few minutes, watching the clock on her dash pass ten, taking deep breaths.

"Stop being an idiot, Rosalie. You set this up, just _go_," she said finally, throwing herself a look in the rearview mirror that Garrett would probably have said could wither balls from great distances.

The coffee shop loomed in front of her and she walked quickly, wanting to get there before she lost her nerve. She was aware of everything – the sun on her face, the cold breeze moving briskly across her cheeks and through her hair, the happy chatter of people around her.

All of that went away when she got to the door. She paused, even more unsure now than she had been when she'd asked Emmett to meet her, when she'd woken up this morning with her stomach in knots. She moved past the door and tried to surreptitiously peek in the window to see if she could spot him.

She did, immediately. He was sitting near the back in the corner, not at their table but right next to it, his arm stretched out across the back of the chair next to him. His knee was bouncing up and down and Rosalie felt a lump of fear form in her throat.

She started to back away – she'd call him instead, have him come to her house or go to his so they could do this in private – but of course he chose that moment to look out the window. He looked right at her standing there in her pea coat and her red scarf.

It took him a second to recognize her, but when he did, he was up and out of his seat, his knee knocking against the table as he did. Rosalie stayed where she was and just watched him, her mouth dry, as he weaved through tables, his gaze never leaving hers. She couldn't make out the expression on his face.

He pushed open the door, his eyebrows drawn together in confusion. "Rosalie?"

She squinted against the sun and opened her mouth, but no words came out.

"What's going on? What are you doing here?" Emmett stepped closer, letting go of the door. His eyes traveled over her face and then lower and she watched him take in her scarf. She watched the wheels turn and the confusion settle into shock, which then rebounded back into confusion. His gaze darted back up to her, his eyes dark, searching. "What's going on?" he repeated.

"You're meeting Lily here," Rosalie replied, running her hands over her coat.

"How did you…" he trailed off.

"I'm Lily, Emmett." She shook her head a little. In all of her anxiety to get here, she hadn't thought of what she'd say when she was actually standing in front of him. "I'm…you're Mac477 and I'm Lily7673 and we've been emailing each other for the past six weeks without knowing I was me and you were you."

Emmett gaped at her. "Wait, _what? _That's impossible."

"It's not," she said softly, stepping closer. He took an instinctive step back, his arm going over his chest protectively. She swallowed down her disappointment, knowing that he was in shock, that he needed to digest. She'd had an entire day to let the information sink in; he'd had less than a minute. "I posted that secret right after I found out Edward was getting married, Emmett. I was wasted when I did it and I never thought anyone would respond to it. But you did and then we started talking and…I don't know. You were this person I didn't know, but did. And you were going through the same thing I was, falling…" She looked up at him. "Falling in love, you know? It was nice to have someone to ground me."

"You're Lily?" he murmured, his eyes traveling over her from head to toe, like it had been written on her somewhere and he'd just failed to notice.

Rosalie nodded and reached for him again, but he shrugged her off, his gaze going over her shoulder, far away. She could almost see him going over everything he'd said to her – all of his secret fears about their relationship. But she hoped he was thinking too about all of the things she'd shared with_ him_. It had been reciprocal, both of them exposing themselves.

"I know this is a lot -"

"A _lot_? That's the understatement of the fucking century, Rose. This is…" he trailed off again, one hand knotted in his hair. "I don't even think there's a word for what this is." His jaw locked and he turned to her, suddenly alert. "Wait, how long have you known about this?"

"I just put it all together yesterday. You said something about Whitman and Neruda Friday night and it triggered that conversation we had about who was better. I stand by Neruda, by the way." She stopped and licked her lips when he continued to stare at her, his mouth working silently. The sun was beating down on them; she could feel the prickling of it against her scalp. "It wasn't hard to put the pieces together after that, Em. I…I wanted to see you this morning so I could tell you right away."

"This is crazy, Rose," he said, scrubbing at his jaw with his hand.

"You keep saying that," she replied, her voice sharper than she wanted. She was starting to feel a sense of foreboding. "I know it's a lot to take in, trust me, but you're going to have to talk to me here."

He looked in the window and Rosalie watched him, waiting. When he looked back at her after an agonizingly long minute, his expression was closed off, guarded. "I just need…I mean, you're Lily _and _you're you. You're Bird." He stopped short and groaned. "Fuck, you know all about that. I came to you for advice about _you_."

"And I did the same. You weren't the only one putting yourself out there, Emmett," she shot back, letting irritation serve as a shield for her fear. It was so easy to slip back in to. She took a deep breath and shoved her hands into her pockets. "You need to digest this, I get it, but please don't shut yourself off from me."

Emmett gazed down at her, chewing on his top lip, lines of confusion etched into his forehead. "I need some time, Rose."

"Okay." She swallowed and nodded. "Okay. How much time?"

He shook his head, a slow back and forth, squinting up at the sky as if trying to come up with an actual timeline. "I don't know. A day? A few days?"

"Tell you what, Emmett," Rosalie said, pulling her keys from her purse. "You get your head in the right place and when you do, call me."

She brushed past him, feeling a lead weight at the pit of her stomach as she moved further and further away from him. She felt the distance with every step and when she turned around, far enough so that she was sure he wouldn't see her moment of weakness, he was still standing outside. His back was to her, his shoulders curved in. She resisted the urge to go back to him, to force him to talk to her about this. He had to figure it out on his own. She hoped that he did it sooner rather than later, but regardless she was sure of one thing: she would be there when he did.

* * *

**As Annie would say, oh my. ;) **

**Next chapter will be up on Friday. LightStarDusting leaves us cute notes and steers us in the right direction when necessary. Lookingforhoofprints owns this story (and Darren Criss owns her). Lots of love to both of them, and to everyone who's been reading this story. We're almost at the end! **


	13. Baseball is a Game Won Between the Lines

**Chapter 13 - Baseball Is a Game Won Between the Lines  
**

The irony wasn't lost on Emmett. The World Series schedule, which had caused so much frustration the week before, ended up being a blessing in disguise.

With two games back to back on Sunday and Monday, there really wasn't any time to slow down and think about the bombshell wrapped in red cashmere that dropped in his lap on Sunday morning. Just as with every other calamity in his life, baseball saved him, the familiarity of rules and guidelines providing Emmett a safe place to be himself. It allowed him a safe place to hide away and not think about the fact that Rosalie was the bird and Lily was Rosalie.

It didn't mean that her absence wasn't palpable. It would have been impossible not to. The lines had blurred together, and outside of work, there was no place for Emmett to look and not see one of the two incarnations of the woman who'd taken over his life.

Unfortunately, the God of Baseball – who Emmett thoroughly believed to be a Goddess - was a fickle bitch, granting the devoted fans of San Francisco a win in five games. By answering their prayers, she slammed shut the door to Emmett's hiding place, leaving him with only one option:

Go back and dissect.

Somewhere in the last six weeks were answers, little clues he'd missed. Unfortunately, going back through the messages required him to relive every moment, including the highs and the euphoria, in a different light. Instead of seeing the moment as it _had_ been, Emmett focused on the subtext, the messages between the lines, which spun a very different tale.

A tale of a man, so fixated by the concept of loving someone that he'd lost sight of what was going on around him. Like an addict, unable to see his own descent, Emmett had dropped straight down into the same hole where his parents and his sisters were crushed. He'd gotten caught up in chasing the high, that all encompassing connection to something (or someone) greater, and now he was stuck, with no way to get out.

"The question is - do you want to?"

His voice echoed off the empty walls of the apartment. It was cold, the large plate glass windows doing little to keep out the cool air that descended over night. Emmett hated the cold, choosing to live in places where the weather was relatively constant. Too many bad memories tied to the cold - hospitals and funerals, the chilled expanse that spanned the distance between his parents as Nan was lowered in the ground. They hadn't been able to put aside the intensity of love and hate long enough to mourn a woman they'd both adored.

That's what scared Emmett. Not what he felt for Rosalie, but what he might do or break because he _did _feel so very much. Without realizing it, he'd become everything he feared, and now he didn't want to go back.

**-0-0-0-**

The email came as a surprise. Without a subject line, merely an attachment, Emmett expected a joke, or maybe even a virus.

Leave it to his sister to never be predictable. It took roughly a minute for the details of the photo to sink in. The empty room silhouetted behind Alice, the key in her hand held proudly aloft, and the expression on her face. It was her win face, the toothy smile saved for big events like graduation, finishing a Sudoku grid faster than Esme, or beating Emmett at pool.

He'd dialed Esme's number from memory, not letting her say more than hello before stabbing the conference button and adding in Alice's cell. They waited in silence as the phone rang once, twice, three times.

"Took you long enough," Alice said by way of greeting.

"Zip it, pipsqueak," Emmett cut her off, going straight in for the kill. "What did you do, Alice?"

His question came out gruffer than intended, but he wasn't backpedaling. Alice had made too much progress in the last few months to give it all up now.

"What does it look like, dillweed? I bought a place of my own," she over-annunciated the last few words, which took the wind completely out of Emmett's sails. "I also bought a cordless screwdriver to do practical things like hang pictures and put furniture together."

"How big?" Esme asked. It set Alice off in a fit of giggles.

"Oh-em-gee, Es, it's sooo big - "

"Enough!" Emmett protested. "I will hang up now and disconnect this whole conversation."

"Fat lot of fun you are, crabby pants," Alice said. "I send a picture of my new condo and you immediately assumed I moved in with someone, didn't you?"

There was a pregnant pause, Emmett's nonverbal concession that his sister was right. He _had_ assumed.

"You know what they say about assuming…" Esme trilled. Emmett could imagine the grin on her face, that self-satisfied little smirk she used to get when he screwed up or got caught doing something he shouldn't. It hadn't happened often, but when he had gotten nailed, Esme and Alice both found great delight in how incredibly human their brother turned out to be.

"Leave my ass out of it, okay?" Emmett snapped.

"Oh god, will you two ever stop? This is my news, now shut it!" Alice protested. "And my news is this – one bedroom and a small little patio, close to Center City and I can walk to the grocery store. They even allow cats."

"No cats!" Esme and Emmett exclaimed in unison.

Alice just laughed. "You two are the first I've told. Well, other than Jasper. He said he'd loan me a screwdriver, but I wanted my own stuff." She hesitated for a moment, and when Alice continued, her voice was softer, and it warmed a spot inside of Emmett he'd almost forgotten existed. "I wanted it to be mine, you know? All me."

No one spoke as the enormity of the moment sank in.

"I'm proud of you, Al," Esme said. Emmett wanted to chime in with something similar, but he couldn't wrap his head around the right words. Of the three McCarty kids, Alice had struggled the most, fighting off drug addiction and her own self destructive tendencies to get to this place. She was finally standing on her own, and saying he was proud of her didn't seem to cut it.

"Yeah well, one step of many, including gashing the shit out of my thumb. The flathead of a screwdriver's sharp, you know?"

They continued to talk for a few minutes, Alice regaling them with her debacles in home improvement while Esme dispensed folk wisdom on how to deal with blood blisters, no doubt acquired from her English boyfriend the doctor. Emmett was mostly quiet, happy to absorb this easy contentment that radiated through the phone. For so long, these times had been few and far between, and he wanted to hold on to this one for all it's worth.

"Oh shit, it's almost six, I have to go!" Alice exclaimed. "I need to pick up my dry cleaning before it closes!"

With that, she was off, and Esme too, claiming she had an appointment with a prospective client about restoring a house by the lake. There were promises of screwdriver parties – both the metal and vodka variety, and then they were gone.

Emmett replaced the handset in the cradle and leaned back in his chair, listening as the base popped and groaned under his weight. He wanted to bask in his sister's reflected glory, to be proud of both of them for figuring their shit out and finding a way to move on.

But he couldn't.

Instead, all he could think of was his murderous rampage in his kitchen the week before, strawberries and mushrooms crushed under foot as he reacted. He'd done the same thing to Rosalie, allowing his instincts to take over and pulling back instead of reaching out and grabbing hold of her with both hands. He'd lived his life caught in a cycle of Pavlovian responses, jerking back when someone hit a raw nerve.

He was living in self preservation mode and he hadn't even realized it.

It reminded him of what his granda said, right before he died.

_"Bad stuff happens in this world, but it's the simple, pure things that get us through. There is good everywhere, you just have to look for it."_

There was good in the world. It existed in little pockets, like his sister buying a cordless screwdriver so she could hang curtains by herself. It was in the way they could all laugh together, free to make plans without the fear of _what if?_

Most of all, it was playing silly games with a woman who could make him laugh, who saw both the dark and light in him, and didn't run away.

At least, that's what he hoped.

Emmett grabbed his Blackberry and pulled up their last email thread. He let his gut take over, and told his brain to shut the hell up.

For once, it actually listened

_Lil – _

_To quote Annie Savoy '__Despite my rejection of most Judeo-Christian ethics, I am, within the framework of the baseball season, monogamous.' _

_You are an amazing girl and I value your friendship. But the rub is, I'm in love with an amazing woman, and I need her. There is a problem though - I balked - and I may have screwed the whole damn thing up. If we really want to go cliché, a Bird in the hand is worth two in the bush. There were two, but the one I didn't realize was in my hand may be gone. I just want her back, but I don't know what to do._

_Think you can spare one more tip for a friend for old times' sake?_

_Mac_

Emmett hit send and took a deep breath, hoping that, for once in his life, he hadn't actually managed to successfully push someone away.

**-0-0-0-**

Instead of hitting send and then sitting, waiting for a response, Emmett decided to shun technology. He knew better than most that a watched pot never boils, and a clutched blackberry never receives email.

So he did the next, most logic thing.

He went to the batting cages.

For one hour Emmett tortured himself, going after every fastball that came his way. He focused on the ball, trying to isolate the seams as the white sphere flew toward him at eighty miles an hour. He thought about his stance, his grasp on the bat, the timing of his swing and how high he held his back elbow.

In short, he thought about everything but Rosalie Hale.

Only after the last ball was pitched did Emmett stop long enough to wipe the sweat from his brow and realize that his knee ached. Even though his body couldn't take it, it felt good to play ball again, to catch the high that came with nailing the crap out of a ball with a narrow barrel of wood. While most people discounted it, baseball was a game of skill; one where physics, focus, and talent won out over brute strength every time.

In a nutshell, a big guy could crush the shit out of a ball, but without the right timing, he'd fan every time.

That's what Emmett had spent the bulk of his life doing – trying to muscle the ball instead of focusing on his timing. It was also why, when he did manage to catch a piece of the ball, it flew for the bleachers. There were a few times, like in his career, when the timing was natural, and he let himself go. Those were the places where he excelled. For a time, with Rosalie, it had been the same way – flawless timing and execution, which let everything roll along just as it should. The snags were all because of him either over thinking or trying to muscle the ball. That's when he snagged himself up. It was never about her and the dual identities or the way he felt. It was always about his own self doubt, his need to be in control.

"Dude, you're a cliché," Emmett muttered. "There's irony in that. Let's roll with it."

For one more round of pitches, he did. Instead of focusing on the ball, Emmett relaxed and let his brain wander, not so much _thinking_ as just _reacting._ After just a few swings, he could feel the knots in his shoulders work themselves loose, and the ache in his knee subsided. He let his body go, and in doing so, hit every ball that was hurled at him, crushing them all into the back net effortlessly.

Just like he knew he could.

"Come on, Meat, throw that weak ass shit," Emmett said, his breath labored. "No way are you getting that cheese past me."

Emmett didn't allow himself to think about anything until the last ball was thrown. He wiped his face on the hem of his t-shirt, and put on his jacket. Only then did he look at his phone. It was ten to five, and he had fifteen emails waiting.

Only one really mattered.

He scrolled straight to it, pressing the tracking ball down maybe a bit too hard. The Blackberry hung for a couple seconds, the digital black clock cycling round and round as the content loaded. He was about to throw the small sliver of plastic and circuits across the cage when the message finally popped open.

Instead of words, there was a single, very famous image. The sign over Pike's Center Market. Half of Center and Market were cut off, shifting the focus to the giant clock that dominated the right half of the sign.

It read five thirty.

Beneath the photo, there was a short line of text – just eight words. When Emmett read them, he snorted.

_The Rose goes in the front, big guy. _

It was another Bull Durham quote.

"Oh Hale," Emmett said with a laugh. "I love you, but no way in hell will I _ever_ wear a garter belt for you. Seeing Tim Robbins dressed up in one was bad enough."

He quickly pulled on his jacket and shoved his phone in his pocket. There wouldn't be time to go home and shower, not if he wanted to get to Pike's in thirty minutes. No way was he going to screw this up a second time.

So what if he was sweaty? It wasn't like he had fungus on his shower shoes, and he'd already run through his list of clichés. Crash Davis hadn't been around to administer this personal epiphany, but it didn't matter. Emmett was ready, and it wouldn't take breathing through the eyelids, garter belts or any other Bull Durham superstitions to get his head in the right place.

He was already there.

**-0-0-0-**

In the end, things came together almost as innocently as they started.

Rosalie approached the gateway to Pike's at five-forty-five, her red scarf wrapped securely around her neck, her hands wedged deep into the pockets of her coat. Emmett waited for her, his shoulders square, hands clasped behind his back.

He tried to keep his face composed so as not to betray the knot that was currently wedged in his throat. There was no sure way to know how this played out, and there wasn't any guarantee that his attempt, while minor league and cheesy at best, would make up for the way he'd left things the other day. But Emmett was done with over-thinking and overreacting. His best work was done by gut, and right now, his gut was telling to go for it.

As the old cliché goes, _nothing ventured, nothing gained._

People swirled around them, carrying bags of fresh produce and fish; bunches of flowers; or had arms loaded down with bread. Others huddled together, hurrying in, out of the cold to get coffee or a drink. Everyone had somewhere to go, somewhere to be.

When Rosalie reached Emmett, she stopped, just out of arm's reach. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and her face was composed into a mask of placid indifference. It reminded him of their first meeting, that hard shell lending more to the air of mystery than scaring him away. He took it as a sign, and decided it was time to go for it.

"Sorry I'm late," he said, paraphrasing his line from their first meeting. "I got hung up on some things that shouldn't matter."

"Funny how that happens," Rosalie said. Her voice was soft, full of hesitation and apprehension.

Instead of closing the space between them, Emmett brought his hand out from behind his back, and presented Rosalie with a single white rose. Unlike the one in Lily's picture, the bud was still closed, the veins running through the delicate petals unbruised.

"I went to the show once," he said after a deep gulp of air. "Six of the greatest weeks of my life. You hit white balls for batting practice, the ballparks are like cathedrals, the hotels all have room service, and the women all have long legs and brains."

Emmett waited, his arm extended, waiting for her to respond.

"I don't care so much about batting practice, but I do miss the woman with the long legs and the brain. She's what got me there, and I don't think I'd want to go back without her."

His voice cracked a bit at the end, and it, not the flower, seemed to be the wedge that broke down Rosalie's reserve. Her chin jutted forward just a tiny bit, and he knew she was either angry or sad or both, but it didn't matter, because at least it was something.

"Player to be named later, huh?" she asked. "Great, another rookie, wet behind the ears, that I'll have to break in."

"That's not much of a greeting," Emmett said, following her lead. "Least you could do is buy me a drink or something. It's the nice thing to do."

She stared at him for a long moment before the corners of her mouth curled up. It was at odds with the lone tear that trickled down her cheek.

"I missed you," she said.

It was all he needed to hear.

Whether learning from their first meeting or simply having the courage to open up and trust that the other's intentions were good, this attempt at a save went much better. They slipped into a dingy little bar nestled into Pike's and ordered drinks – a glass of wine for her, vodka on the rocks for him.

More importantly, they talked. Not _how's the weather? _ Not _what did you do at work?_

They really talked.

There was no banter or innuendo as Emmett told Rosalie about his parents and their marriages, about Esme's poor choices in men that led up to her beating and hospitalization at the hands of her husband. He told her about Alice's drug addiction and her attempts at suicide.

Through it all, he peppered in stories about his grandparents, and how they held it all together for the McCarty children. How, with their death, he felt responsible for doing the same thing, even if it short changed what he needed out of life.

In turn, Rosalie told him more about her relationship with Garrett, and how he'd given her the confidence to chase her dreams, and to not give up. She told him about her parents, who were still married after thirty five years, and were just as disgusting as a couple of teenagers.

They laughed, and a time or two they might have teared up, but no one paid them any mind.

It wasn't until their second drink that they even touched, and that was as simple as holding hands.

They pushed the rush to the side, slowing down and focusing on the context underneath. All the things said and unsaid that made each of them who they were. Not all of the stories were fun, especially on Emmett's part, but they created a depth and context where things had been missing before.

He even told her about flying to Gatlinburg and his Nan when his parents got divorced for the last time, and how she'd helped him pull it together when no one else could. The comparison to Rosalie (while not stated) was clear, and she teared up again. He made a mental note to send her snickerdoodles tomorrow. Let other people have flowers, cookies were the better answer.

"You know," Emmett said, as he helped Rosalie on with her coat. "My granda said something once, and I never really got it, at least not 'til now."

"What's that?" Rosalie asked. Her red scarf, the one that had helped him launch his first campaign, hung loosely around her neck. Emmett tugged on one end, while holding firm to the other, so as not to slip it off her neck. She stepped forward, and for the first time in what felt like an eternity, but was really only three days, she was close enough for him to feel. Not smell, not see, but feel.

"He said 'Keep pitching the imaginary balls, Emmie. Someday you'll find someone who will hit them back to you, just like you used to do with me_.'"_

"Emmie, huh? What's your middle name? I see potential here."

"Zip it Hale, I'm trying to be deep."

She smiled, and slipped her arms around his waist, her hands flattening against the small of his back. The contact anchored him, just like she always did.

"Well then, you better show me what you've got, big guy." She leaned in, her high heels keeping them on parity so she could kiss his cheek. She caught the corner of his mouth, just like he had with her, weeks ago. "I fully expect you to be able to keep up."

Emmett wrapped his hand around her cool fingers, and stepped back , his mouth already creeping up into a satisfied grin.

"Please. I've seen you run the bases, Hale. I think you need to worry about keeping up with _me_."

To prove the point, Emmett pushed his way through the crowd, safely clearing a path for Rosalie.

Because he would always be a nice guy like that. Especially when it came to her.

**Thanks to LightStarDusting for the stinkeye and the commentary, and thanks to lookingforhoofprints for indulging in our insanity.**

**Only the epi is left. Thank you for taking this ride with us.**


	14. Epilogue

**Epilogue – It's a Beautiful Day For a Ballgame **

_This afternoon, the gates of Safeco will open for another season._

_The question is, what will the diehard Mariner fan find - a fresh team, ready to go fight for the hard earned win, or a group of guys beleaguered by past losses and injuries?_

_It's easy to try and break baseball down to its mechanics, to the pieces and parts that make up the game. Batting averages and on base percentages tell the story through the rearview mirror, but it does little to set our hopes or project into the future._

_On opening day, we can't look at stats to know how a player will or won't perform. That is in the past, and this is a new season, where there is only one direction to go. _

_Forward. _

_Maybe that's why I love opening day so much. Sure, there's history to recall and stats to review, but on the whole, all the players are equal, working toward the same thing, the same ideal. We as fans have the same aspirations. We'll go to the park – today, next week, next month, and we'll cheer for our team. We'll take our family, our friends, our loved ones, and we'll eat hot dogs and peanuts and cracker jacks; we'll cheer, and we'll sing during the seventh inning stretch. Sure, today is a game just like any other, but it's also so much more than that. _

_Opening day represents are our idealism, our hope of what we want to be, wrapped up in one neat package. It's a date with the homecoming queen, an acceptance letter to college, or a first kiss – that single magic moment when everything is bright and shiny, and we are all focused on what can be, and not once was._

_To quote Walt Whitman, "I see great things in baseball. It's our game, the American game. It will repair our losses and be a blessing to us." _

_That's what I'll be thinking about today when I take my seat in the press box. Not what Ichiro did in the off season or who the Yankees signed. Everything is new today, and I want to live in that. Who cares what tomorrow may bring? It's opening day, and I'm ready to go to a ball game._

_Take Me Out to the Ball Game by Emmett McCarty, The Seattle Times_

**-0-0-0-**

"Take your wiener, Hale."

Rosalie looked up at Garrett, who was looming over her, three hot dogs tucked in the crook of his arm and an overflowing cup of beer in each hand. Someone chortled behind her and she rolled her eyes, grabbing the hot dogs.

"I'm glad you find yourself so hilarious, Adams. At least one person on this earth does."

Garrett settled into the metal seat next to her, his legs spread out expansively like they didn't have three square inches of space between them. "Hey, Katie laughs at my jokes." He paused as he took a huge gulp of beer. "Sometimes."

"It's a pity laugh," she replied, dropping his hot dogs in his lap.

Garrett unwrapped one and shrugged, unconcerned, before jamming half of it in his mouth. "True love is appreciating your boyfriend's humor, even if it's juvenile," he muttered around his mouthful of food. Rosalie wrinkled her nose. "Actually, true love is scoring two free tickets to opening day. If you weren't already sleeping with McCarty, I'd consider it for these seats."

Rosalie reached out to punch his arm and he shrank away with a laugh, his eyes shaded by the bill of his Mariners hat.

It was the bottom of the fifth inning and a gorgeous day at Safeco Field; the sky above them was cloudless and almost obscenely blue. The air was crisp and calm with a hint of promising warmth. There was a buzz of excitement in the air and Rosalie smiled to herself, thinking about Emmett's column. He'd captured it all perfectly – that feeling of a fresh start and the hope and possibility that came along with it. No dream was too big. The world was wide open.

She'd read the column that morning at the kitchen table, a bowl of oatmeal in front of her and a piece of dark chocolate beside it. Balthazar had been underfoot, napping after playing outside in the sunshine. It had reminded her so much of the first time she'd read Emmett's column, only this time he'd been beside her, crunching on Frosted Mini Wheats with his hand on her knee. She knew that feeling he'd described; she'd been living it for the past six months. They both had.

After she'd finished reading, Rosalie had drawn on Emmett's picture as she'd done that first time and many times since. He'd requested the devil horns this time and she'd blacked out a tooth, too, making him look like a slightly demented and evil but still ridiculously handsome hillbilly.

When they were done with breakfast and Emmett was in the shower, Rosalie had gone to her nightstand and folded up his column carefully, placing it with all the others she'd saved over the months. Though he wrote about sports, she always read the subtext in his words, and could always somehow bring it back to the life they were building together. She savored these columns as much as she'd savored Mac's – Emmett's – messages to her during the month and a half they'd exchanged them. She'd been surprised to find that, after everything had been revealed and the messages between Lily and Mac had stopped, she didn't feel an absence or a hole. Now they could share themselves in that way face-to-face. Their two lives – Mac and Lily, Rosalie and Emmett - had converged to make something that was fully tangible.

Something that, like Emmett had said in the kitchen after his meltdown, was amazing. It wasn't perfect, but the two weren't mutually exclusive by any means. Their relationship had deepened and with that came reality; they each had quirks and habits that drove the other crazy and when they clashed, it was fiery. But it was real and theirs and she couldn't imagine anything else. Emmett had folded himself into the empty spot in her heart that no one else could have. He was an integral part of her life in every way. Everyone that loved her loved him, too – Garrett and Kate, her parents (who had met him over Thanksgiving) – and she felt like everything had finally fallen into place.

She knew it was the same for him, too. He'd said as much after Alice and Esme had come to Seattle for a long weekend in February. She'd been insanely nervous, but, as it turned out, without reason. Emmett's sisters were just as amazing as he was.

"God, you are _such _a girl."

Rosalie startled out of her reverie and looked over at Garrett. He was watching her with a smirk, eyebrows raised. "What?" she asked defensively.

He gestured to her. "You're sitting there mooning over Emmett."

"I'm not _mooning_, I'm _thinking_." Garrett let out a dubious hum and Rosalie rolled her eyes. "Hey, now you know what it was like to be around you and Kate in the beginning of _your _relationship. And that was when I was single and bitter."

"You weren't bitter, just hurting," Garrett said, and his voice was firm.

She twisted in her seat, looking over her shoulder and up to the press box where Emmett was. She knew he'd be concentrating on the game, but also thinking about his granda, wrapped up in nostalgia as always when he watched or listened to a game.

"Hey." Garrett's knee knocked against hers and she turned to him. He reached over, ruffling her hair and she smacked it away with a laugh. "As kick-ass as our other halves are, it's nice to hang out with you alone."

"It is," Rosalie replied, feeling a rush of affection for her brother in bond if not in blood. No one was happier for her and Emmett than he was. He saw, just as she had with him and Kate, that this was _it_ for her. "You definitely made it worth it with the hot dogs and beer."

Garrett pointed his as-yet-uneaten second hot dog at her. "Yeah, and this shit is expensive, so you know I care."

"I know you care anyway, Adams."

"Are we about to have a Hallmark moment here?" he grimaced theatrically, his eyes sparkling.

Rosalie laughed and tapped the bill of his hat, a little harder than necessary. "Let's skip that part."

He took a bite of his hot dog and chewed thoughtfully for a moment, watching Chone Figgins hit a line drive straight down the middle. Cheers erupted as he ran to first and Garrett turned to her with a grin. "I've been holding my tongue for the past six months, but I think it's now safe to say I told you so."

She considered his statement and then shrugged. He _was _the reason that she and Emmett met in the first place, at least in person. "Okay, you can have that."

"Thank you."

"Thank _you_, Gar," she said, looking sideways at him. He mimicked her, his lips pursed in confusion. "For being there for me after everything happened with Edward, you know? I'm sure I wasn't exactly fun to be around."

"Aw, Rosie, you were a peach." He pinched her cheek and gave her a wink that spoke the words he didn't say. "But if you _really _want to show your appreciation for me –" Rosalie groaned, but he continued on, undeterred, "You can go get me some Twizzlers."

She stared at him as he crammed the rest of the hot dog into his mouth, washing it down with a gulp of beer. "Are you going to just eat the entire time? You had popcorn before the game started and then the hot dogs and now you want candy?"

"Half the fun of going to ball games is the food," he replied. "Besides, I'm a growing boy and I need a well-rounded meal. The Twizzlers are dessert."

Rosalie shook her head, but stood up and picked her way down the aisle, taking the steps two at a time. She paused at the top of the stairs; there was a concession stand just to the left of her, but she veered right instead, slowing as she passed by the press box. She wished she had some sort of cloak of invisibility, some way to sneak in there so she could see Emmett in his element without disturbing him. She loved to watch him when he was immersed in his work. She often kept him company when he set up camp at their Starbucks and she'd sneak looks at him from behind her book or magazine, watch his fingers moving fast over the keyboard, his mouth puckered and slightly open, brows drawn together. He looked so stern and serious, so different from the expression he normally wore. Sometimes she'd nudge him with her foot just to see the way his face opened up when he looked at her, how his mouth melted into the smile she knew and loved and saw most mornings now.

It would be a few more hours until she saw him again, but she could wait. There was a particular moment she was waiting for anyway, when the sun dipped down low in the sky and bathed her backyard in soft light. She hoped that he would make it back in time. They had an entire season if what she had planned didn't work tonight, but she wanted to start the season out right. She wanted it to begin with the kind of magic Emmett's granda had created for him when he was a little boy.

Rosalie smiled, almost to herself but also for him, though he couldn't see her, and then walked quickly away.

**-0-0-0-**

The sun was starting to make its descent into the horizon when Emmett stepped out into Rosalie's backyard. She had pulled two chairs to the edge of the patio, facing the maple trees that grew tall and strong. The sunlight filtered in between the budding leaves, throwing patterns onto the grass and Balthazar sprawled out at her feet.

She heard the crunch of grass under Emmett's feet but didn't turn. She could almost hear his smile and then felt it when he bent over and pressed his mouth against her neck.

"Hi," he said, wrapping his arms around her shoulders. It was probably an awkward position for him, but he seemed content enough, placing soft kisses along her neck and up to her jaw line. She closed her eyes and let out a low hum. Garrett and Kate's laughter filtered out from the kitchen where they were making dinner, but otherwise the evening was quiet, calm.

"Hi." She ran her hand over his before he released her and swung around to the empty seat next to her, lowering his body into it with a sigh. Their hands drifted together intuitively, fingers intertwining, and Rosalie leaned her head against the back of her chair. He his eyes moved over her face and they soaked in the silence, smiling goofily at one another.

"Did you guys have fun?" he asked finally, reaching down to pet Balthazar with his free hand. It wasn't much of a stretch; he was practically trying to climb into Emmett's lap, now wide awake.

Rosalie nodded. "I'm pretty sure Garrett ate all of the food at the ballpark. He's been complaining about a stomachache since we got home."

Emmett laughed and shook his head. "Did he even watch the game?"

"Oh yeah. He yelled in my ear for the last two innings." Rosalie ran her thumb along his skin. "How does it feel to be attending the Church of Baseball again?"

He smiled at the _Bull Durham _reference, his gaze going down to his granda's watch almost without thought. Rosalie smiled to herself, her eyes flicking up to sky. "It feels mighty good. I think this is going to be our year, Ms. Hale."

"The M's or you and me?" she asked with a wide grin, purposely misinterpreting his statement.

"Well, that depends," he drawled and leaned in closer, raising his eyebrows. "How many years are you planning on giving me?"

"How many do you want?"

Emmett's hand moved to her neck, his thumb stroking the skin just below her jaw. "All of them."

Her heart beat heavily against her chest, not fast, but strong. She loved this about him, that he spoke freely of what he wanted from her, for them, and that he wasn't afraid to talk about forever with her. She would never get tired of hearing it. "That definitely deserves a kiss," she murmured, her lips already brushing against his.

"Oh, it deserves more than that, but it's probably not backyard appropriate."

"Shut up and kiss me," she commanded with a laugh.

"Yes, ma'am."

He was still smiling when he kissed her, soft at first. She felt it slip away as her mouth opened against his. They were nearly always laughing just before they kissed like this, with reacquainting lips and tongues. She loved this part of it especially, when the upturn of his mouth drifted away and he went intense, his hand going to the back of her head like it was now, holding her there. She loved the sounds and taste of him, but mostly she loved that he felt like the first man she'd kissed, but would most definitely be the last.

She forced her heavy eyelids to open when his kisses grew lighter, more playful. "Hey, Em?"

He pulled away, but just enough so that they could look at one another without going cross-eyed. "Hmm?"

She grinned. "Let's play."

His expression turned hopeful. "Play?"

"Baseball," she clarified, tapping the face of Emmett's watch. He looked down at it and then back up at her and the smile that blossomed on his face was so boyish that she almost felt like she'd traveled back in time to see a younger him. She could imagine him so clearly in his grandparents' backyard, running around with the same big grin he wore now.

The sun was turning everything golden and Rosalie positioned herself at the far end of the backyard, waiting impatiently as Emmett unbuttoned his shirt cuff and rolled it up his forearm.

"You ready for this, Hale?" he called out, looking up at the sky and positioning his granda's watch so that it caught the fading rays of light.

"Throw the heat, meat." She wiggled her ass like she'd done the day he took her to Safeco to run the bases, then wiggled her eyebrows for good measure and he laughed, shaking his head.

"You've got to come up with a new line, rookie," he said, flashing the reflection off the watch face at the ground. Balthazar cocked his head, staring down at it in confusion. "Hit it like you mean it, now. No faking."

"Baby, I never fake it."

"Damn right you don't," he replied, his eyes watching the motion of her hips as they swayed back and forth in anticipation.

Emmett threw her pitch after pitch, laughing and heckling her. She accused him of dirty play more than once (which he assured her he was saving for later) and more often than not he caught her as she rounded the invisible bases. Balthazar ran after her every time, automatically along for the ride. She was breathless by the time Kate broke up their fun, her cheeks stinging from smiling so widely and from the chill that was settling into the air as night descended.

Emmett was play wrestling with Balthazar now, faking left and then right, running around in circles while the dog bounded after him, looking like he was about to die from happiness. She knew exactly how he felt.

"Dinner's ready when you are," Kate called through the open kitchen window.

"We'll be there in a sec," Rosalie called back. She caught Kate's teasing smile as she disappeared. They probably looked a little ridiculous out here, running up and down the length of the backyard, teasing and flirting and making all kinds of noise. But her heart was full and she was happy and she could tell by the wide grin on Emmett's face that he was, too. Not much else mattered. "All right, one more. Make it good, sweetheart."

Emmett scrutinized her, rubbing at his nose thoughtfully. He couldn't catch the sun's reflection with his watch at this point, so he wound up and then extended his arm expertly, releasing the imaginary ball from his grip. She was so distracted by how ridiculously sexy he looked doing it that she almost forgot to swing. Luckily, the ball didn't exist, which meant she couldn't miss. She swung for the fences, shading her eyes as she pretended to watch it soar far into the sky.

"That's _so _gone." She hooted, starting her victory lap around the perimeter of the yard with Balthazar at her heels. She watched Emmett stroll further down the grass, his arms crossed and an amused smile on his face. She gained speed as she got closer to him and leapt into his arms, her home base. He caught her easily, barely affected by the weight she'd thrown at him, and wrapped his arms securely around her waist. "Home run," she declared lowly, letting her gaze wander from his eyes down to his mouth. His dimples were deep and impish.

"Not yet."

"I beg to differ," she said, kissing his bottom lip. She didn't mean their game anymore and she could tell by the way Emmett's arm tightened around her, by the way he caught her lips with his own and deepened the kiss, that he knew it, too.

"I love you, Rosalie Hale," he murmured when they broke apart.

She sighed as he kissed each corner of her mouth, a habit that was still able to send as much electricity through her as it had the first time. "I love you, too, Emmett McCarty."

As she took Emmett's hand and let him lead her back into the house, she marveled at how far they'd come. She thought of the Whitman quote, the same one Emmett had used in his column: _It will repair our losses and be a blessing to us. _

Love had done that for both of them, had filled the fissures from where they'd both been broken before. They'd found something in one another that was deep and true, that was real and gave them the strength to deal with anything thrown their way, as long as they did it side by side.

The sun dipped below the horizon behind them, the close of another day. They didn't look back. Just as in baseball, whether it was the beginning of the season or the World Series, they'd both learned that there was only one place to look when it came to life, and especially to love.

Forward.

* * *

**This story was written for Lookingforhoofprints. Because of her generosity during Fandom Gives Back, I was able to write this last collaboration with my dear friend, hmonster4. Thank you for that, Lily. :) Endless thanks and so much love to the amazing LightStarDusting, the fastest beta on the east (and west). And of course, thanks so much to everyone who read, alert, favorited and reviewed. Your support, as always, means so much. **

**I've got some fun things lined up, so you'll be seeing me again soon. Until next time, friends. :) **


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